Fractured Fairytales 2: the Song of a Siren
by whitedove4
Summary: She wanted nothing more than to see the world Above...to explore...but the humans were vicious, they wanted to make jewellery from their scales... and so she goes to the Sea Witch on the bequest of her father, her king, and in return for legs she would try to restore the balance to the Land...But nothing is what it seems...
1. Chapter 1

*****I do not own the Little Mermaid…however, I do own this take on the tale ;)**

 **Sequel-ish to Fractured Fairytales: Beastly, you should probably read it for context, etc. However it is not a direct continuation of Anya's tale – but is a continuation of the time/line and theme, set six years after the events of Beastly…Once again I've played with names, situation and such – this is my take on the classic, a darker slightly more twisted version. Having said that, I hope you enjoy my dears : ) Don't forget to review for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee xx**

 **Chapter 1**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

The princess stirred in her sleep, a sigh escaping lips that would be full and plump when she grew older.

A porcelain hand stroked the sun-kissed skin, resting in the short gold-spun locks, an ethereal colour betwixt chestnut and gold. Too young to have wings yet, the three-year old fae slept in the blissful ignorance of childhood, sheltered from the world in her land of dreams.

Anya, Queen of the Fae, smiled softly at her daughter. But a frown marred her forehead – though it did not distract from the beauty of her heart-shaped face, with its wide eyes and thick lashes. Her distinct high cheekbone _, fae_ cheekbones. Though once they had been rounder, softer. _Human._

"Why do you worry so?" It was Adamyr's voice, as gentle as his hands upon her waist as he stood behind her.

Anya sighed, a soft exhalation as she withdrew her hand, resting it upon his darker one; she turned her face to look at him.

His golden eyes pierced her own. Searching.

"I will not leave her here when we go to the City," she said. Quiet, as to not wake Aaloka.

"Anya-"

"I cannot leave her, Adamyr," she did not let him finish. She would not be swayed. "I trust our knights. But I do not trust others not to harm her."

Adamyr nodded, his golden wings fluttering nervously behind him, just as her own did. "You do not trust the humans? Our people will do anything to protect their princess; you know they dote upon her."

Anya smiled, her lips brushing his cheek in a gentle caress. She turned in the circle of his arms, her head resting in the crook of his neck. "I have seen the treachery in both humans and fae. I will not let Aaloka out of my sight."

His hand stroked her auburn curls, unbound from their customary braid in an unruly tangle. "The forests still crawl with all manner of dark creatures; both mortal and not. The Cursed do not take heed and all fae must be united if we are to make peace with the humans."

Anya kissed his neck. "Will the Myr-King be attending?"

She felt him nod. "But he is loath to tangle himself in affairs of the Drylands – as long as the myrfolk are safe Below, he will not interfere."

Anya snickered softly, poking his shoulder; remembering the stunning daughter of the Myr-King who had tried to seduce him many years passed when she had convinced him to reopened his Court. "I hope his daughters don't try to seduce the humans."

Adamyr laughed, but softened when their daughter stirred. "They would not; humans are beneath them. The myrfolk are a proud people, they keep to themselves."

"Will they make good allies?"

She felt Adamyr's pause. She felt his frown. "They would certainly make for dangerous enemies."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _ **Year 1, 559 of the Human Era**_

 _ **8 years passed**_

 _She should have known that there was going to be a storm, she should have felt it in the water around her. She knew all the signs; she'd noticed that there were no birds in the sky, she could feel the still calm of the air, the buzzing. The tension._

 _But she'd been to enraptured by the great ship before her._

 _She'd not expected such a sight when she'd broke the Surface, feeling the air upon her face. It was a beautiful vessel, all ivory sails and gold-gilded rails. But it was not just the ship that had captured her attention so._

 _No, it was the young man who sat over the hull, his legs dangling over open water as if he had not a care in the world. His clothing was plain, a cream-cotton shirt and breeches that hugged his thighs. But as she let the tune he played drift around her, she knew that he was no ordinary human._

 _No, he was far too handsome, with his eyes like the blue summers sky and close-cropped dark hair. His face was the kind that would grace the paintings or sculptures that the humans so cherished._

 _And Aelarra knew she was in love the instance she saw him. He was the most handsome human she had ever seen; his carefree grin set her heart a-racing, as if she'd swum the entirety of their kingdom in a race._

 _She shouldn't have been at the Surface, she knew she wasn't allowed. But she couldn't help it. She was drawn. And the tales that her sisters told of handsome princes and dashing lords could not compare to the vision before her._

 _She could easily picture herself beside him, wrapped in the circle of those strong arms; those nimble fingers that played the flute so well would caress her own dark locks. And they would dance across the deck of the ship; she would be graceful on the legs she would someday have._

 _And so she'd followed a safe distance behind the ship, ducking beneath the Surface whenever one of the sailors glanced outwards. And she'd not paid attention to the dark clouds that loomed overhead. She only noticed something amiss when the sailors started yelling._

 _Then everything was a blur – lightning lit up the night sky, the crackling of fire flared before her._

 _Screaming._

 _Yelling for more water._

" _Where is the prince?"_

 _It was then everything came into focus; when she saw_ him _in the water. If he was breathing she could not tell, but his eyes were closed, his form still. Blood tainted the water around him._

 _The ship was going to pieces, the mast fell._

 _But she did not think as she propelled herself forward, her tail and body a blur as her arms wrapped around him._

 _It took nothing more than a piece of the ship to keep him afloat, and from beneath the Surface she pulled him._

 _The ocean raged about them, the sky fell and she hoped he was alive. She wished for it more than she'd ever wished for anything in her seven and ten years._

 _It seemed like eternity before the shoreline appeared before her; before the storm calmed. Her tail was barely moving, the water passing slowly through her gills as she moved towards the temple._

 _It was a safe-place. She could see the runes carved into the marble pillars and across the threshold. Protection. Healing._

 _Shimmering human runes and the elegant curlicue runes of the Land-Fae. It took all her strength to get the piece of wood to shore, breathing the heavy air through her mouth, trying to lever her body with her tail._

 _She didn't want to leave him, but she knew she had to._

 _And so she waited in the shallows, her body hidden by an outcropping of rocks as pieces of the ship started to wash up around him. But she did not have to wait long until a girl ambled down from the temple, her eyes the darkest obsidian, her skin the colour of caramel._

 _The girl, perhaps only three and ten, gave a startled cry when she saw him on the piece of wood, rushing to his side._

" _Farewell, my prince," Aelarra whispered softly as she watched two male humans carry him into the temple. "I will see you again."_

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Aelarra laughed, her hair streaming behind her in a halo of chocolate and aquamarine curls as she propelled herself through the water. She wove through the brightly coloured corals; purples, pinks and vivid oranges. The water passing through her neck-gills was as sweet morning dew upon the Surface rocks.

The crystal water offered no resistance as she swam, hands by her side and tail moving, she was as streamlined as the seals of the South. She knew that Chanda was close behind her; and the silvery fish that darted around them could not keep up with the young myrmaids as they raced.

She laughed again, not daring to look behind her.

Through the twisting spires of the palace she swam, the pearl- coated walls glimmering like Fire.

And with a last burst of speed she sped through the open window to their tower, laughing at Varenya's shocked expression. Though Varenya had seen only two hundred and nine-score years, it was hard to surprise her and so Aelarra relished the occasion with a grin.

"What by all Below are you _doing_ , Aelarra?" Her brows were raised in such a way she looked almost the image of their mother – save for her colouring. Varenya's eyes were the blue of the Deep, dark and fathomless; but eerily beautiful with the slightly slanted shape and thick lashes that all of the myrfolk had. Her hair fell perfectly behind her – dark chocolate waves, fading to dark blue and to aqua, just as all the Myr-King's daughters' hair did. Her tail was stunning, a myriad of aqua and sapphire scales, lighter at her waist and darker at the end where it flared out into a beautiful pale-blue fin.

Aelarra knew her tail looked the same – almost. She did not have the gold bands of a Master Rune-Caster encircling the bottom before her fin.

She smiled at her second-oldest sister. "I was-"

Her answer was cut off as Chanda burst through the window and into the room, all glittering in her gold-scaled uniform, bubbles floating about her as she stopped herself a moment before colliding with the wall. "You cheated!"

"I did not," Aelarra stuck her tongue out. "You just can't accept that you're slower than me."

Chandyala, called simply Chanda by those who knew her, was the second youngest of the Myr-King's daughters. And even at the age of one hundred and (almost) seven-score, she was a fully-fledged member of the Guard – almost a century younger than the rest. But she could out-match any of them in a fight. She had earned her Master Warrior rings just as any other had, she has passed all the tests easily.

"You should be putting your time to better use," Varenya said, almost stiffly. The look that she gave Chanda was distinctly pointed and Aelarra resisted the urged to roll her eyes. "You could be brushing off on your rune-casting. You cannot win every fight with a weapon."

A silvery laugh drifted over them, flitting easily through the water around them. Aelarra glanced at the middle sister – beautiful, ethereal Mykaela, who looked every part the seductive siren that humans painted them to be.

Her chocolate-aqua hair seemed to shine more than anyone else's – hair which she was piling atop her head before the mirror. Strands of pearls hung from her elegant, porcelain neck; and eyes the colour of the crystal waters that surrounded the Palace shimmered as her tail did. There were no Master's rings on her tail – she did not need them, nor want them.

"I don't know why _you're_ laughing, Mykaela," Varenya scoffed. "Your rune-casting is probably worse than Chandyala's."

Mykaela rolled her eyes, a smile adorning her full coral-coloured lips. "It's almost the full moon, Aelarra."

And that was all it took to set Aelarra smiling once more – an infectious grin that had a small smile tugging at even Varenya's lips.

Of all of King Aryan's five daughters, only Aelarra had yet to reach adulthood. True adulthood; when she would be able to walk on the Drylands during the full moon. The first full moon after her two-score and fifth birthday – which had been but a week passed.

… **.**

King Aryan of the Myrfolk assessed the four of his daughters that still dwelled in the Palace; he knew they were ready for what he would tell them.

Even little Aelarra, who'd not yet walked with the humans – who had been counting the moon cycles until she could for years.

He smiled at his wife beside him – ethereal Malaya with her blue-topaz tail and glossy chestnut hair. She nodded to him, even as she twirled her tail; the golden bands that adorned it shimmering in the sunlight that shone through the Surface and into his Kingdom. "My daughters," he said softly, though there was no fear of anyone intruding upon them. His people loved their princesses – for all their uniqueness. "There is a ball to be held in the Drylands by the King of the Humans." He watched them carefully, watched the varying ocean-blue eyes change. They hid their reactions well – but he could still see the eagerness in them. He wished his eldest, Kairavi was still there; but he knew she was where she needed to be. "The humans have invited both the Myrfolk and the Fae to this gathering; we will be visiting royalty and must behave as such."

He watched little Aelarra, whose eyes – that mysterious colour betwixt blue and aqua, the colour of the shallows around the beautiful islands that humans did not visit, the colour that her shimmering tail tried to emulate – lit up with excitement. At two-score and five, she was barely an adult by their kind. But she was still a child to his eyes, and she did not the dangers that lurked in the Drylands, the World Above the Surface. 

… **.**

Alexandyr, sitting on his throne with a hand upon his chin, knew his father, the late King, would be turning in his grave if he knew what he had planned. The King before him had been a bitter man, after his wife (Alexandyr's own mother) was taken by vampyres. He had made the hunting of fae and fae-cursed legal – he had been set on the extermination of their kind.

"You will be on your best behaviour for the visiting dignitaries," Alexandyr told his sons, who stood before him, straight and proud.

Alexandyr knew, just as the Fae King did, that their peoples must learn to live in peace. They could not keep killing each other until one or both races were wiped out. But the hate ran deep in the minds of the humans, a hundred years of seeing fae as evil had taken its toll.

"The fae-cursed creatures have done nothing to earn our respect," his eldest scoffed, his dark blue eyes narrowed. "They prey on our outlying villages, stealing women and children in the dead of night. They lure sailors to their death upon rocks. There is a reason we have fae-hunters who can _protect_ houses with their runes."

Alexandyr sighed. "Laric, they provided us with the supplies to see us through the last winter."

"Not until half the city had starved!"

His younger son stayed out of the exchange, his own eyes watching his older brother and father.

 _Wise._

"They were offering it long before that, son," the king was weary. Weary of the same arguments over and over. So he was glad that it had been his wife who had answered. Lauryn's voice was a cool balm on the room as she swept in; her emerald skirts rustling behind her. He offered his wife and queen a grateful smile. "We just did not accept, blinded by the same prejudices that you now speak with."

It was times as these that he was glad she was educated in the temple as she had been – raised with a neutral view by both fae and humans dedicated to healing and peace.

She sat upon the throne beside him, her skirts pooling about her like a lily pad. "They too are royalty, Laric. Their lines are far older than your own. The Myrfolk were here long before our first City was built."

With a stiff bow, Laric left, his footsteps clicking on the marble floor. The thus of the door echoed throughout the room.

"He'll come around, mother," Dayton, his younger son said with a sad smile; and then he, too left. But not without pressing a kiss to his mother's hand.

Alexandyr sighed, taking his wife's hand in his own. "He is so stubborn, so set."

"Dane is right, my dear," she smiled warmly at him and he thanked the stars that had put the idea in his father's mind to arrange their marriage. "He will come around."

But neither of them spoke of the shadow that had fallen across the heart of their son.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _ **Year 1, 367 of the Human Era**_

 _ **200 years passed**_

 _Malaya knew something was wrong; the ship was far too close to the rocks that rose from beneath the Surface. She could see the look on the sailors' faces, the glazed look that bespoke of forbidden things. Unseeing._ Enchanted _._

 _And then she saw Mykaela, sitting upon an outcrop, her sapphire-aquamarine tail trailing in the water; her hair a shimmering halo of curls around her stunning face and she wove her song around the humans. Luring them towards their death, as if she were one of the sirens of old._

 _Filled with shock the Myrmaid Queen cast the run for silence; the ancient word flying from her lips with ease – casting runes with her face like no fae or human could. They myrfolk had no need to write the runes, their voices were their weapons._

 _Mykaela's song halted and the young myrmaid dove into the water, lest she be seen as the sailors awoke from the rune-spell she had cast upon them with her song._

 _And in a flurry of movement the sailors were turning from the rocks, slightly dazed and confused._

 _But they did not see her daughter where she hovered beneath the outcropping which she had been sitting on._

" _What did you think you were doing?" Malaya was furious as she approached her daughter, slicing through the water with ease. She knew it was not just anger she felt. It was terror – a fear that her daughter would turn out like_ her _. For doing such a horrible thing just because she could and there was no one to stop her._

 _Crystal-blue eyes looked abashed and Mykaela did not meet her mother's eyes. "I just wanted to see if I could do it, to enchant a whole ship," the young myrmaid murmured. "I was never going to hurt them. I was bored…And besides…I thought that if they'd shipwrecked they'd not pass so close to the Kingdom again."_

 _Malaya sighed. Of course the ten and five year old had been bored. It had been five years since she'd left the pod-schools and she'd yet to choose a Craft. It had been longer than any other myrmaid Malaya had heard of, it took perhaps a year at the most. Mykaela_ had _been trying different things, but nothing suited her vivacious daughter. She was not a great warrior, despite her skill with her knives, nor was she a great rune-caster, though she had clearly perfected her siren song. A melody of her own, a melody that_ was _her, sung purely in runes._

" _Perhaps you need something to do with your mind," Malaya said, watching as the ship that had so nearly been destroyed, sailed over the horizon. "You need something to do – but you've refused every offer of apprenticing."_

" _The Craft's bore me, mother."_

" _That doesn't mean you should go about luring ships into rocks," the myrmaid queen scolded. "What if you had been caught in one of their nets."_

 _Mykaela looked at her mother, surprised. "They weren't fishermen, mother. They were pirates."_

 _Malaya started; for they'd looked like regular fishermen to her. "How do you know? How long have you been up here?"_

" _Only a few minutes before you arrived," Mykaela seemed bored with the conversation already; as if her mother should already know the answers. "Their flag was tied down, their cargo hidden and the nets were dry. They weren't even trying to pretend; there was only one reason they would be out here and that would be to catch a siren and sell her scales."_

 _Malaya stared at her daughter; she knew she wasn't lying – she could read it in her crystal-blue eyes. She had been able to tell all that from only a few seconds observation._

 _Then an idea blossomed in her mind. "How would you feel if we created a Craft to suit you – to ease your boredom?"_

 _Mykaela perked up, interested. "What kind of Craft?"_

" _We best speak with your father."_

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Mykaela watched Aelarra with a raised brow, for her youngest sister seemed fascinated by everything around them; her small face was pressed against the window of their carriage.

Mykaela was thankful – almost – to the human King for providing them with the carriages. For the enclosure kept most of the acrid smells of the marketplace at bay, the windows and gilded-gold doors did not allow the scents to burn her delicate nose.

And instead, she gazed out the window as Aelarra did, ignoring Varenya who sat in silence. She examined the faces of the guards who lined the streets. She saw curiosity in some, wonder in others as the beautiful myrmaid princesses passed them. But mostly she saw a burning hatred from a hundred years of war with the fae – a hundred years in which the Fae King let his subjects go unpunished for crimes.

And she knew that her sweet little sister would not see the hatred – for she had not dealt with humans before. And even by human standards she was young. And beautiful.

Mykaela stole a glance at Varenya – who was looking down at her lap, refusing to look out at the faces that wanted to see them. She sighed, almost wistfully.

Mykaela did not have the distrust that Varenya had for men, for reasons that she would not share. Indeed, Mykaela liked men quite a lot, be they myrmen, human or fae. But she did not like the way that their eyes followed Aelarra, as if they could sense the sweet innocence about her. They looked at her as if she were prey.

And so Mykaela watched them all carefully, taking note of every face. Of every expression. She would miss nothing.

And she would report what she learned to her father when they had a moment alone.

… **.**

From their position atop the hill Aelarra looked down upon the deep depths of the lake, with the city rising on the island within, hundreds of feet in every direction from the shore. The cream marble, tinged many colours, shone in the high midday sun, almost glowing, the light reflecting off each perfectly carved facet.

Her eyes were wide with wonder as she sought to take everything in.

A great wall rose at least a hundred feet from the earth, surrounding the city – an impenetrable fortress. The buildings were all similar: square with flat rooves, most three stories high, the edges symmetrical and even. Ancient oak trees grew between the buildings, their immensity casting shadows over patches of the city like small sanctuaries, with trunks at least a hundred feet around. A soft breeze drifted throughout the metropolis, bringing the scent of fresh leaves and herbs, hints of the spices. Strands of hair, the colour darkest mahogany and dipped in aqua, fell free of the intricate knot atop Aelarra's head, framing her face like a lover's touch. The fresh fragrance of the Dryland– so different – blew about her.

The palace rose from the heart of the city, like the horn of a unicorn spiralling upwards. The marble spires were joined by the parapet that surrounded the entirety of the palace, upon which archers stood guard, their cream uniforms blending in with the ivory walls. Many windows, all of which had balconies running off them, were visible only as small black dots. The perfectly sculpted marble was reflected brightly in the shimmering lake that surrounded the city; its crystal depths deep and unwavering, unbendable by any magik.

The morning sun cast its golden light over everything – the city was alight with life and colour – shining like an ethereal beacon.

Aelarra knew the palace was smaller than their own, but when one was stuck to the ground, everything seemed so much larger.

She followed Mykaela in silence as they exited the carriage, her legs only slightly unsteady. It was a strange feeling, she thought, walking on two legs. She had not the practise that her sisters did, they had been walking upon the land for centuries (each since their own two-score and fifth birthday). But she had only a day and a night to use them – until the sun arose the morning following. And she would make good use of them while she could.

She hoped, with all her being that she would see _him_.

… **.**

It was as if everyone in the courtyard held their breath as the two kings grasped forearms in greeting. The tension could have been cut by one of Chanda's unsharpened blades.

Varenya could feel the tension in the guards who stood around the sparkling marble courtyard – in their rune-protected armour.

Of course they would not trust the beautiful creatures from the sea – when the most beautiful of siren songs' had been luring humans to their deaths since the first ships arrived.

They looked stern beneath their helms, but Varenya could feel their lecherous gazes, she could feel the intent in those muddied eyes that followed the Myr-King's daughters.

The pleasantries they exchanged were meaningless, hollow words that would not be followed by the humans' actions.

The Master rune-caster was glad when they escorted her to her room – half the size of the chambers that she and her sisters shared. They were adequate, she supposed, with the heavy curtains that blocked out the sun and the canopied bed that she would sleep in for perhaps only a few hours.

"My Lady, will there be anything you need?" The voice was soft, hesitant.

And she turned, her hair brushing against her arms with the movement, unsurprised to see the page-boy still there. The blue of his uniform hurt her eyes, it was a pale mockery of the beautiful colours of the ocean. And of course, his eyes were glued to her lips. "No, that will be all, thank you," detached, cold. Everything a sea princess was meant to be.

And as she closed the door in the young boys face she hoped her sisters followed her lead.

But they would not, she knew that.

For they enjoyed their frivolities on the Dryland as much as any of the myrfolk did; they enjoyed that sweet freedom of being adored, worshipped. They could do things among the humans that they never could Below.

With a soft voice she spoke the rune for protection and she felt her magik flare about the room.

She would be safe at least, and before she knew it she would feel the cool ocean waters on her scales as she sliced through the water.

And the humans and their silly notions would be far behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _ **Year 1, 552 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Fifteen years passed**_

 _Malaya smiled as she watched her youngest daughter swim before her, her small face alight with a beauty she had not yet grown into. She was laughing and waving to her pod-mates – it was a joyous day for all. The day that the young myrmaids completed their training with their pod-mates, having completed learning the basics of rune-casting and the art of fighting._

 _As her daughter moved towards her, she idly wondered what Craft Aelarra would choose. She'd not given either of her parents any clue as to what she would do. Unlike Varenya, who had Chosen rune-casting straight out of the pods – she had always known what she was going to do, and she had apprenticed under one of the most powerful Master Rune-casters in the Kingdom, with Malaya teaching her extra when she could. Aelarra would not Choose the Warrior's path, Malaya knew that much. She had little aptitude for weapons, not as Chanda had. She had not the stunning sirens song that Mykaela had; nor had she the sharp diplomatic mind that Kairavi had._

 _No, Malaya's carefree youngest child would be a puzzle who could only figure herself out._

 _For she was filled with a burning curiosity, a sense of adventure that shone as brightly as her raw, untapped power. Malaya knew that the young myrmaid could be even more powerful than herself given the training._

 _She was the youngest daughter of the powerful Myrfolk king and his rune-casting wife, and there was no limits to what she would be able to do._

 _She was destined for great things._

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

The hall was shimmering with a multitude of torches, hung from strands of silver that were strung across the pillars. And upon closer inspection Queen Malaya of the Myrfolk could see that they were spun glass balls, with flames flickering in their depths. A wry smile marked her full lips – for King Alexandyr of Albaa had wasted no expense on the ball.

The musicians played a light tune, the flutes and string instruments wound a delightful melody that floated about the room.

She smiled softly as she felt her husband – the ever-handsome Aryan – squeeze his hand gently. They drifted silently to one of the unoccupied tables in the shadow of the large pillars. She glanced at him sidelong as they walked – he cut an imposing and powerful figure in his gold-scale armour and sea-green cloak. The crown he wore was not extravagant, a simple circlet of gold and pearls that matched the one that she wore.

She could feel female eyes following him, and there was no doubt as to why. His jaw was finely chiselled, his nose perfectly straight, his skin the most perfect alabaster that his daughters had inherited. His hair was dark brown, cropped short and mussed slightly, with streaks of blue and aquamarine falling behind his ears. The same aquamarine that his tail glowed when they were beneath the waves. She found him as handsome as she did when she had wed him, three hundred and five-score years passed.

Her periwinkle gown pooled about her as she sat, her deep blue eyes that were so like Varenya's watched everything carefully.

The air was heavy with magik; she could feel it pressing gently upon her, sending a thrill through her entire body. It was almost as if the air itself was alive. So many different races in the one room.

She cast her gaze once more about the room and saw a few fae drifting to the centre of the room, swaying gently to the soft harmonious music. She watched their unearthly grace enviously, their movements fluid and calm like water – there was nothing primal about them, nothing animal – nothing to hint that for the past century they had ran wild without their King. But still the humans skirted the area that they danced – humans too young to remember the bloodshed that came before the Fae King's time.

The dance was simple to her eyes, nothing compared to the endless twirls and handwheels that Mykaela liked to perform while she was on land. The fae twirled slowly about each other in slow circles before flicking their legs outwards, rising up on their toes and touching hands briefly and spinning in towards each other. Malaya watched, mesmerised. It was in the simplicity of the dance that lay its beauty, she realised. The movements were so simple, yet so perfect. The fae moved as if they were simply dancing upon air, though their gossamer wings lay still.

She sighed and looked around the room once more – the human palace did not compare with the beauty of the World Below, but she could see the laughter and joy in the faces of the ladies present. And she could feel the humans runes in the room; runes for protection, for unveiling. Runes that could not be activated by any fae; and if they were strong enough, could kill any fae who tried to undo them. And she did not blame the human king for arming his guards with silver-tipped weapons. The introductions had been a spectacular affair – befitting the humans' royal guests.

"What do you think of, my dear?" Aryan's voice was a deep rumble that reverberated through her body. _Powerful._

… **.**

Aryan followed his wife's gaze to where the Fae King and Queen stood with their knights. He was curious about the Fae Queen, an unknown woman who had ruled by Adamyr's side for the six years passed – before that it was as if she had not existed. But he could see why the king had been drawn to her so; she was a beauty, with her masses of auburn curls and her creamy skin. All soft curves and smiles, he could see there was a fire deep within her. Perhaps it was why her wings were like flames, a burning blue near her bare shoulder blades, purple and red towards the tips.

Her hands were curled protectively around the child who sat on her lap.

King Adamyr was as striking as his wife, with his sun-kissed skin and golden-chestnut hair; his gold wings like sails behind him. And his golden eyes, like those of a lion, watching everything. He looked almost the image of his father, save for his eyes. They were from his mother, Queen Haviira.

He was not at all how Mykaela had described him – after she had attended a ball after the Fae had first re-opened his Court she had reported everything to him. Not physically at least – his golden wings were not tattered, his feet and hands not taloned. But he could feel the power that she described; not power in a magikal sense. No, it was more than that; it was a _presence_ , a sense of being and surety. Gone was the Fae King who had disappeared for a century and let his Kingdom fall to the humans.

He was a true king, in every sense of the word.

Perhaps that was what had Malaya's deep blue eyes narrowed in consternation.

… **.**

Aelarra stared in wide-eyed wonder about her. She was loathe to leave the ball inside, but she had glimpsed the beautiful gardens just beyond the ring of candlelight from the open windows.

And she'd not expected the Fae Queen to take her arm with a soft smile; as if they'd known each other for years.

They wove through the revelries, walking through the wide open doors that lead to the balcony and the sweeping stairs that descended into the picturesque gardens.

Aelarra let Lavanya lead her through the tranquil paths, with the blossoming flowers that turned their silvery petals towards the Fae Queen as they walked past. A fountain bubbled somewhere to their right as they passed a series of low benches, where the members of the Human Court would lounge around during the day, soaking up the gentle sunlight.

Flames flickered along the bath, in tall torches that cast small patches of warm colour over the moon-bleached flowers. She looked up to the sky, where the moon hung like an ever-watchful eye.

"Careful," Lavanya said softly, pulling her backwards softly. She opened her mouth to protest at the mistreatment but two women stumbled through the bushes onto the path, in the very spot where she had been standing the moment before. The women laughed softly, their grins visible below their masks.

"We did not mean to interrupt, _ladies_ ," the fae said with a small bow and a grin, her flame-like wings fluttering behind her. At another time Aelarra would have admired the woman's quick thoughts, but she could do nothing but stare at the sight before her.

The fae before her grinned, her lips of molten silver turning upwards to reveal her sharp canine teeth. Her hair was like starlight, a messy tumble that fell past her waist, her hands gripping the slender waist of the woman whose eyes blinked in an almost-haze. She did not blink at the chocolate-and-aqua curls that fell to the backs of the woman's knees, but the soft kisses that she was pressing against the neck of the other woman.

 _Oh my…_

A vampyre and a myrmaid.

Her eyes darted to Lavanya, unsure of where to place her eyes when the hands of the myrmaid had slipped down over the smooth flesh of the other's thigh. There was a sharp intake of breath and a low growl.

The vampyre with locks like woven starlight tugged on the hand of the other with a wink at Aelarra, pulling her lover further into the gardens, towards the forests. She understood the emotions that had shone in the eyes of the two fae, raw and powerful.

"Well that was strange," Lavanya commented, her tone casual whilst Aelarra stared at the spot that had been vacated, a single slipper left on the ground. Forgotten.

"I'll say," the young myrmaid spluttered out, her face scarlet. In her mind's eye she could still see the way the gown had slipped off the shoulder of one of the women, revealing the succulent flesh beneath and the slight scratch marks over her shoulder blade.

"Vampyre's aren't normally favoured as bed partners by your folk," the fae laughed. "Too wild for _their_ tastes."

Her tinkling laughter drifted around Aelarra as she moved onwards, out of the light cast by the flickering torch. It didn't take long for the young myrmaid to recover, shaking her head with a laugh.

Lavanya's path through the gardens was seemingly aimless, their footsteps light as the music from the open windows that drifted over them, laughter and voices part of the beautiful sound. Whispered conversations tickled her ears, lovers hidden from sight by the sweeping roots of the great oak trees that surrounded the gardens. She wondered idly if Mykaela was amongst them; if it was her sisters drawn out sigh that she heard, or perhaps the delighted giggle of the human she had enraptured. The image of the two women locked in a passionate embrace surged through her mind.

Pausing under the sweeping branches of a younger oak tree, she looked upwards at the wall. And up. And up. It seemed impossibly tall, almost as tall as the walls that surrounded the city itself. The beautiful shining marble walls that could not be bent by magik. A cage within a cage. She glanced sidelong at the fae who seemed lost in her own thoughts. A beautiful gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.

"This is a beautiful city," Lavanya said softly as she took a seat on a long marble bench, the plush cushions moulding themselves to her body. It was as if the Fae Queen could read her mind. Or perhaps she was trying to tell her something. "The city is one of the most beautiful in the Land."

Aelarra nodded idly, the fresh woody scents of the forest interspersing with the warm and docile scents of the garden, enveloping her in their calming embrace. Her senses felt like they were alight – every sensation magnified and she wondered if it was how the fae saw all the time; it was so different from the World Below. In that moment, watching a single leaf as it fell from a tree, it was easy to forget. She watched as it spun, making its way through the air as light as a feather, the veins that ran through it almost white in the light cast by the moons. It was easy to forget that her beloved sister had been married off to a King far South; easy to forget that she'd yet to pick a Craft to master, easy to forget her duties and simply drift. "I have never seen anything of its ilk before."

Aelarra felt humbled by the presence of the Fae Queen, so ethereal and stunning. Looking sidelong at her face, she could understand why the once-reclusive king had chosen her for his wife. There was a warriors grace in her movements; it was the same surety that Chanda moved with – a predator. There was a burning fire in her eyes, a passion.

She was like the flame her shimmering wings so perfectly mimicked.

"I'm not going to bite, you know," her voice was like music – she could have been a siren.

"What are you doing out here?" the question burst forth before she could stop it.

But Lavanya, the beautiful Fae Queen laughed. A sound like wind chimes.

"I apologise for accosting you; but these humans feel it's unseemly for a female to wander anywhere alone, so I decided it was mutually beneficial for us to take a turn together," she grinned, her chocolate eyes twinkling. "I must admit, I'm not quite one for courtly functions. I'd much rather be in breeches than a dress, I feel bare without a blade at my hip. What of you, Aelarra of the Myrfolk, do you wish you had your tail still, flitting beneath the waves?"

Aelarra laughed, unable to help herself; the joy bubbled up within her like a fountain. "Oh no," Aelarra gushed; and she realised with sudden clarity that she was comfortable with the fae, she feared no retribution. "I do not seek solace in the gardens; I came simply to see the flowers, I might not get another chance to. They are so different to ours. So beautiful, the colours are so different."

… **.**

"Our Queen?" Gawayn asked his King, his silver eyes watching the mingling of the fae, humans and myrfolk – scarce and scattered about the room, it was there nonetheless.

"Gardens," Adamyr said softly, trying and failing to hide the small smile that danced on his lips at the thought of his wife. He held his infant daughter gently in his arms, her eyes closed in blissful slumber.

Gawayn almost laughed aloud at the docile picture. "What do you think of this?"

"All is going well, I can sense no ill intent. No more so than normal that is. No one will act on this night."

"Shall I seek out the Myr-King now?"

… **.**

Aelarra smiled softly, watching as Lavanya, or Anya as she insisted on being called, took her daughter from the arms of the Fae King as they returned to the ball room. She watched the little bundle curiously, the little fae who would once rule over the Fae.

The small face was peaceful, rose-tinted lips curled into a secret smile.

So preoccupied with the child she was, she did not see the figure before her until she had collided with his chest. Off balance and stumbling backwards, her breath left her when his arm curled around her waist, keeping her from toppling to the ground.

She was greeted first with the intricate embroidery of the silk vest that covered his broad chest. Raising her ocean-blue eyes she felt her breath leave her once more. For not even the sky-blue of his doublet could outmatch the stunning sapphire that was his eyes.

His outfit she recognised immediately – he was the figure who had been standing beside King Alexandyr – he was Prince Laric, Heir to the throne of Albaa.

Her heart skipped a beat, thudding against her chest. Her eyes wide with disbelief.

"I apologise, my Lady," his voice was a warm rumble, sending chills through her body and straight to her heart.

And she knew down to the depths of her heart that it was him – her prince. The one who she had saved all those years ago, more handsome than ever before.

"Are you well?"

 _He must think me a simpleton._ "Yes, I thank you," she said with a soft smile as she righted herself on her feet.

"Dance with me, my Lady?"

She could not wipe the smile from her face as the prince – her prince – led her amongst the dancing couples.

"How do you like our palace?"

She beamed up at him, for he was perhaps a full foot taller than her. "Oh, very much so. Everything is so different."

And those hands, those supple warrior's hands that so long ago had played that flute so nimbly, held her waist gentle. As if she were precious.

… **.**

It was easy for Mykaela to steal the arm of the man that Aelarra had caught – he could not deny a visiting princess.

But as she suspected, he was immune to the sirens song she tried to weave around him – the air shimmered with rune-spells. Subtle, but present. And strong.

She knew Aelarra's face would be betrayed – her younger sister had not felt the burning pull to a human's flame before. They burned so much brighter than fae – land and sea alike. It came from their short lives, she suspected.

But she watched the silk-covered back of the prince as he walked away from her and her sister who stood not a few feet from them.

He disappeared between the pillars shadows and a chill crept through her.

She sees the shimmer of the embroidery in his cloak as it catches the light and she knows that they were not simply the curlicue designs that humans were so fond of.

No, the delicate silver thread wove runes into the cloak that the prince wore.

Her brows narrowed in consternation.

The Crown Prince of the humans was no friend of the fae.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 _ **Six years ago**_

 _They trudged through the melting snow, step after dreary step. Every moment taking them farther and farther away from the fae-cursed palace and its fae-cursed inhabitants._

 _Far behind them was the isle on the lake with its rows of apple trees and the topaz-eyed fae-witch. Hopefully dead._

 _But they knew better than to wait and find out._

 _So slowly, ever so slowly, they moved through the fae-cursed land. Heading South, back towards the human Lands. Back towards safety._

 _Where they could lay in wait._

 _But they'd had no choice but to stop when Nuvian had grown weak – starved from the witch._

 _They passed a tall ivory tower; its windows too high to see out of. It was crumbling, beyond the state of being repaired and it was there that they took refuge as he healed._

 _Out of sight of the fae and hopefully out of mind._

 _The tapestries upon the walls were fascinating – a small fae, with hair like fire and eyes like sapphires, who looked almost familiar. A man, with wings of blue ice and hair like sunlit honey. There was the occasional weaving of a siren – with the same eyes and starlit hair of the fae they had left behind. But there were no ice-wings, no, instead there was a beautiful, shimmering_ tail _of ice._

 _Everything was perfectly detailed – down to the haughty expression in the siren's eyes, the joyful shimmer in the young fae's eyes and the hidden sorrow in the male's. She wondered idly at the weaver and what had happened to them._

 _Siri was most of all intrigued by the mirror, shattered across the floor; reflecting images that were not before it._

 _But she could not dwell too long upon it; for she needed to nurse Nuvian back to health._

 _They had to be gone before the Beast found them._

 _But they would be back._

… **.**

Aryan watched as the sunlight flittered across the water before them, bidding farewell to the human King atop his magnificent vessel.

It was a way to their Palace, but they would not reveal the location to any human, especially not when their fledgling alliance was still so new.

They had slipped into the ocean moments before the suns first rays had kissed the glassy surface of the ocean – before the sunlight could force them back into their true forms. But the Myrfolk King did not mourn the loss of the legs that the full moon gave him – indeed he had missed his beloved ocean around him.

He had missed the water flowing through his gills, for air gained that way was so much more _alive_ than that which was breathed through the mouth.

"You are silent this morning," Malaya's voiced was pitched softly, so that it would not be carried to their daughters who swam in front of them. Chanda and Aelarra laughing, their bodies streaks of aquamarine and ocean blue – scales catching the sunlight when they moved closer to the Surface. Dancing fish twirled about them, the same bright colours as the coral reefs below them.

"The Fae King means to unite fae and human," he replied, just as soft. "It will not be long before we too are swept up in this brewing trouble. It will not be long before our people are hunted – already there are those who capture myrfolk, using their scales for exotic jewellery."

"Why?" Malaya's deep blue eyes were wide, horrified.

And Aryan could do nothing but shake his head. For truly he did not understand. "I knew that some of our folk had been disappearing, but I thought naught of it. That perhaps they were using forbidden runes to join their human lovers upon land permanently." He shook his head once more. "I shall have to be more vigilant."

"I think a true alliance would benefit us all, my dearest."

"What do you suggest?"

She was silent for a while, but he could see the thoughts running through her eyes as they darted across the forms of their daughters. "We should send two of our daughters as Ambassadors – a gesture of goodwill, if you like."

"If only Kairavi was with us still, of all of the girls she had the most political mind."

Malaya laughed. "And her husband appreciates it, I'm sure. But I think she would not be best suited for such a task. Why do we not ask our daughters who would wish to go?"

Aryan nodded. He would have Mykaela go; but who else?

… **.**

Her hair spun about her as she twirled; her arms around the phantom prince who had appeared her dreams for so long. She could not remove the smile from her face as she remembered the soft way he had held her. _Her_ Prince Laric.

"You're foolish to lose your head over any male," Mykaela's scoff did not interrupt her spinning, nor her blissful thoughts.

Instead she kept twirling, laughing as she did, arms above her head as if she were being lifted up.

"You're just sour because your perfectly crafted sirens' song did not work on him," Varenya pointed out, somewhat snidely. For it was no secret that of all the Kings' daughters, Mykaela was the most like a true siren.

And that gave Aelarra pause, accusing eyes darting to her sister, who shrugged her delicate shoulders as if to say it wasn't her fault. She'd not known that Mykaela had tried to enchant him.

"I just wish I could get a closer look at those weapons…" Chanda said, her face turned to look out their window. "All that steel…so perfect."

Mykaela snorted and Aelarra held her hands to her mouth, as if that could contain the laughter that threatened to burst forth. "Yeah, right," Mykaela rolled her eyes. "Weapons…."

Chanda shoved her older sister's shoulder and laughed with them.

Floating on her back, Aelarra let go of the laughter. And she was still laughing when the door was opened.

"Your father requests your presence." The messenger's face was blank, for the sight of the giggling princesses was not an uncommon one. But straightening up, Aelarra could see the spark of curiosity in his eyes as he wondered what it was about.

So soon upon returning from the Drylands.

… **.**

Back and forth their rapiers flashed through the midday sun, the Prince's bare torso shimmering with sweat.

And Nuvian was sure that the Court ladies would be swooning at the sight. But as it was, it did not distract the stormy-eyed fae hunter. Instead he noted how much the prince had improved from when he had begun instructing him three years passed. He was swifter, more agile. More suited to fighting the fae-cursed creatures.

"One of them tried to enchant me, I could feel the fae-cursed runes trying to creep under my skin," Laric spat as he moved out of the way of the blade, sapphire eyes flashing darker than the night sky. And Nuvian almost smiled with satisfaction at the pure disgust that ran across the prince's features at the mere thought of the myrmaid. "I can never thank you enough for the belt that you crafted for me."

The belt – etched with the same protection runes that adorned his own cloak – had been simple to make. And it had been even easier to convince the prince to wear it to the Ball, after three years of feeding him his own thoughts on the fae.

"I could not be gladder to see them gone, them and the Fae King and Queen," Laric continued; unaware, as always, of anything save for the blade in his hand.

Nuvian had not spoken with Anya or her Beast the day of the Ball, but he had pleaded sick and retired to his chambers before the night had begun; lest they discover he lived still. He glanced at his reflection in the silver-tipped sword he held as it flashed before his face, parrying a blow that Laric dealt. Though he had hair dyed his hair the colour of coal, his stormy eyes remained unchanged. And there was no doubt in his mind that the once beautiful Anya would recognise him. Out of curiosity he had glimpsed her, disgusted by what the Beast had done to her. Turned her into one of _them_. A foul creature. Fae-cursed.

He dodged the prince's feint and hooked the sword out of his hand, sending it flying.

"The myrfolk seem like such a knowledgeable people." Nuvian almost scoffed at the voice of the prince. The younger prince. Dayton, known as Dane to most, would never be like his brother.

He would never be a warrior, never rule.

He had no fire, no passion. None of what Anya had once had.

He had nothing and would never be anything.

"Do not be foolish, _boy_ ," Nuvian snarled, unable to help himself. "Their weapons may be made of bone, but that matters not. For they have a far greater weapon. Their prowess in rune-casting far outmatches any other fae."

"That doesn't mean they will turn it against us, they never have."

"And what of the great storm, the one that ruined fleets of merchant ships. That almost claimed your brother's life," Nuvian scoffed. The prince was an insipid idiot. "That was no natural storm. It was fae-cursed. One of _them_ created it."

An image of topaz-blue eyes flashed across his mind's eye and he snarled.

He would kill them all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _ **Year 1, 549 of the Human Era**_

 _ **18 years passed**_

 _Her little Aelarra was playing in the gardens. At seven years old she was a bundle of energy, her tail pushing her faster than any other of her pod-mates._

 _But she was still, and that surprised Malaya, and drew her curiosity as she moved towards her youngest daughter._

 _She was making patterns with the flowers that grew, coaxing them off the rocks which they clung to with a gentle whisper. A rune-spell to keep them alive. A swell of pride rushed through her like the tide._

" _What is that, precious?"_

 _Aelarra jumped backwards, startled by the presence of another. But she recovered quickly, spinning to face and smile at her mother. "It's the Land Above."_

 _Malaya looked down at the picture her daughter had created. The land. The sun. Trees. And little humans walking about. "Why do you not make something from Below?" It wasn't chastising, not quite. But she was curious._

 _Aelarra lay on her back, looking up. And Malaya could easily guess that she was thinking of what lay beyond the Surface. There was a smile on her small, innocent face. "Because I_ know _what's down here, mother. The Drylands are different."_

" _The seaweed always looks greener in someone else's lake," she stroked her daughter's hair softly. "The Drylands are a dangerous place for those like us. The humans do not like us."_

 _And then Aelarra smiled, brighter than any rune-light. Perhaps bright enough to rival the sun. "Well I'll just make them like me then. And then I could go to the Drylands whenever I wanted."_

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Malaya looked over her daughters as they stopped before their father – all beautiful and strong in their own ways. The light shone from rune-lights around the room, crystals lit from within by magik. They cast shimmering patterns on her daughters' tails as they swished softly in place.

"My daughters, I have a great request to ask of you," Aryan met each of their eyes directly, Malaya watching their reactions.

Straightening spines. Proud eyes.

"Our alliance with the King of the Drylands must be solidified," he continued, moving before them, his sea-green cloak billowing behind like a thundercloud. Neither of them relished the thought of sending their precious daughters into danger. "Varenya. Mykaela. Chandyala. Aelarra. This is a great task I shall set before you, and you will decide yourself if you wish to proceed or not. Negotiations with King Alexandyr have come to a standstill, and I cannot force his hand. The Fae King is in agreement with this. I shall ask two of you to act as Ambassadors on the Drylands, negotiating with their King for peace between our peoples."

"What problem is it of ours if the fae and humans fight?" Varenya asked and Malaya's eyes rested on the Master rune-caster, on the gold rings that glittered on the end of her tail.

"You forget, Varenya, that we too are fae," Aryan said softly. "If there is war between those on Land it will not be long before it reaches us. Already there are humans who hunt myrmaids, any of our folk have been going missing. And I intend to find out why and put a stop to it."

"And how would we negotiate with their King? It is a full month until the next full moon."

Malaya slipped her hand into her husbands. _By all Below, let us be doing the right thing._ "We will go to the Sea Witch."

A collective gasp met the Myrking's words.

Aelarra's eyes widened in shock.

Chanda's hand gripped unknowingly on her sword hilt.

"There will be a price, there always is," Malaya said with a soft exhalation. "This is why it is you who must decide who will go. We would not ask this of you if it we could think of no other way."

"I will go," there was no hesitation before Mykaela spoke. But Malaya knew there would not be. For the siren was well suited to the task before her.

"You will need protection…" Aryan said. It was clear that he wished for Chanda to go. Their Master warrior.

"I, too, will go."

But it was not Chanda who presented herself for the task. Nor was it powerful Varenya.

It was brave, curious little Aelarra. Who moved as gracefully as any of her sisters despite the difference in age.

And all of a sudden Malaya remembered that time in the Palace gardens.

 _Well, I'll just make them like me._

Seven-year-old Aelarra's voice rang through her mind and Malaya smiled.

She had not thought of her youngest when she and Aryan had devised their plan. But perhaps, just perhaps, she was the best choice.

"Come then, we must depart swiftly."

… **.**

Mykaela did not shudder as they entered the cavern of the Sea Witch, shown through by the sharks that guarded the entrance. The room was dark, illuminated by naught but rune-lights. For no sunlight reached the caverns of the Deep where the Sea Witch dwelled.

Self-exiled from the Palace.

In the Deep the witch could practice her dark magiks in secret, where none but the desperate would bother her.

"So, you wish for me to grant you legs to walk upon the Drylands without the light of the full moon," the Sea Witch's voice was musical. Beautiful. And Mykaela met the myrmaids topaz-blue eyes without hesitation.

"Yes."

The Sea Witch looked down at the parchment which the Myrking had written upon. Her beautiful face was eerily still as she thought – Mykaela could read nothing in the face of the myrmaid from the South, whose hair shimmered like starlight around her. The ice-blue tail flashed in the rune-lights as she moved forward through the darkness.

A beacon of light.

"Such magiks cannot be performed without a price, little princess," the Sea Witch's voice was enchanting. But it was no sirens song. "But I can do what you ask of me."

"Name your price," it was Aelarra who spoke, even as she looked about the cavern with open curiosity.

Mykaela wondered what her youngest sister noted, if she thought the various bottles on the walls were filled with potions or poisons; if she thought the cupboards were filled with bodies as rumour suggested.

It was well known, however, that the Sea Witch performed forbidden magiks. The kind that went against the laws of nature. Like turning myrmaids into humans.

"Your siren songs'".

Mykaela froze.

"That is my price." Then she was swimming away from them, her ice-coloured tail swishing gracefully, the gold rings adorned it clinking softly.

There was no sound in the cavern, save for the soft clinking of the Sea Witch going through various bottles.

Her siren song, perfectly crafted, would be given up. But she had the skill to craft another. A more beautiful one.

"Drinking this potion will make you feel like a silver-tipped rune sword is being passed through your body," the hypnotic voice continued as she turned back to face them, holding a bottle made of crystal. "But you will have two beautiful legs; you will be able to dance as no human has ever danced before."

She handed Mykaela the bottle.

So cold.

So small.

She met Aelarra's beautiful ocean-blue eyes. .

… **.**

Avarnaa watched the sisters with curiosity. As different as night and day, they were. She knew they would accept the deal, but the older seemed torn. She knew the power of a sirens song.

And so she appeared to deliberate as the younger princess moved about the cavern. She did not touch anything, but her gaze lingered on the sculptures and paintings that Avarnaa had collected.

Things made by humans.

There was a burning in her eyes. A curiosity.

A need for adventure, a burning wish to explore the Land Above.

And so, with a smile, she approached the young princess who had only just seen her two score and fifth birthday.

"You know, the potion does not have to end when your negotiations are over."

Startled ocean-blue met blue topaz.

"I can give you the power to change into human form at will," Avarnaa said softly, swimming closer to the princess. So young and innocent.

"What is the price?"

"Not so much of a price, but a key ingredient that I cannot add to it," Avarnaa said with a smile. "The power of the potion will only activate when you receive true loves kiss." Ocean-blue eyes lit up and the Sea Witch's suspicions were confirmed – there was a human that the myrmaid princess did love. "For if your true love does love and marry you then the power of the potion would be complete and you would be a kind of shape-shifter. Able to go between your human and myrmaids forms at will."

"But….?" Aelarra's eyes glanced towards Mykaela, who had her back to them – no doubt trying to figure out what lay in the rest of the potions on the shelves.

"If he does not love you, dearie, then at dawn on the first day after he marries another, you will turn to sea-foam."

To die of a broken heart, such a tragic way to die – for just as fae turned to silver dust when they died, myrfolk turned to sea-foam.

And Avarnaa knew well of the fickle hearts of humans.

… **.**

"We will drink your potion," Mykaela's voice cut through Aelarra's mind.

"Very well," the Sea Witch presented them with two silver chalices. And Aelarra wondered if Mykaela noticed the other crystal bottle that the Sea Witch held. "Does your sister speak for you, Aelarra? Will you, too, drink the potion?"

 _To be able to explore the Drylands. To see things that no other Myrmaid ever has…Activated only by true loves kiss._

She remembered Laric's beautiful sapphire eyes, his kind smile and charming words.

She met the Sea Witch's blue topaz eyes.

"Yes. I will drink the potion."

Then the Sea Witch smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 _ **Year 1, 559 of the Human Era**_

 _ **8 years passed**_

" _After losing his wife when his children were mere babes, it is such a tragedy," the lady mumbled as they walked through the gardens. The day was bright, the sun shining down upon the City as if it had not a care in the world._

 _As if not a week passed the great storm had not destroyed the livelihood of many a merchant._

 _Her companion sighed, gnawing on her lip. "I do hope that his dear little Lavanya fares well. Such a sweet tempered child; she does not deserve such a harsh life, cast from civilisation."_

" _Where will they go? I hear that every single one of Adresyn's ships were lost at sea, all the cargo included," the lady spun her parasol, looking out at the sea which had claimed so many lives. "All those riches, gone. Left in debt from the losses."_

" _They are to move far inland, to a farm of some sort if gossip is to be believed."_

" _We do_ not _gossip!"_

 _A shared laugh._

" _Did you hear that there have been whispers that one of the fae caused the storm?"_

 _A gasp. "Surely not! They wouldn't dare!"_

" _The young prince was out on a cruise for his birthday, it was the perfect chance to be rid of the Heir."_

" _How fortunate that he was saved by that temple girl then, washed ashore so near to her."_

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Alexandyr looked at the two princesses who bowed before him. Just deep enough for visiting royalty and not an inch lower, their dresses pooling around them like the petals of a beautiful flower.

The Myrking had chosen his emissaries well; for both were enchantingly beautiful in the eerie way that all fae were. A non-human beauty, highlighted by the blue that wove through the curls of their hair, soaking the tips.

"We are gracious of your hospitality, my Lord," the older said perfectly, her voice pitched so all could hear her. He could see the Fae King's representatives watching her carefully as well. Interesting. "It is my father's greatest wish that our peoples be united in peace. These uneasy times bode ill for us all."

"Indeed, Princess Mykaela," Alexandyr nodded, a small smile on his lips. The Myrking had chosen well, indeed. "My home is yours for the duration of your stay; you need not fear anything within these halls."

"I hope it is so, your Majesty," Mykaela bowed once more and Alexandyr gestured for two of his knights to escort the princesses.

He could not _guarantee_ their safety, not completely, not with such unrest and mistrust directed towards any fae. But he would do everything within his power to ensure their safety.

For though he did not trust them, he trusted that they wanted peace just as much as he did.

They all needed peace.

… **.**

Malaya paused at the entrance to the Sea Witch's cavern, her fists clenched. Avarnaa agreed to aid them far too easily.

"Dearie, do not hover in my doorway," her voice echoed through the darkness. "It is unbecoming for a _Queen_."y

She swam forward, her diaphanous blue cloak moving behind her like a shadow. But there were no shadows in the dark cavern, for there was no light to create them. Save for the one she moved toward.

The tunnel opened into a deep cave, lit by rune-lights. The walls covered with shelves upon shelves of potions, strange objects and things from the Drylands. And at the centre sat Avarnaa, the Sea Witch. She lounged languidly on her chair of gilded gold, draped over it like a beautiful decoration.

Her 'guards' were nowhere in sight, the mercenary sharks swayed easily by the promise of an easy feed.

Before Avarnaa sat a table, with two beautiful gold chalices.

Malaya looked up, able to see the surface of the water above.

She knew, that just above that was a ledge where a myrmaid could pull herself out of the water and feel the air on her face. Yet still be within the sanctity of the cave, away from humans.

She knew, because she and Avarnaa had discovered the cave not four hundred years passed.

"Do you like what I've done with it?" Avarnaa smiled, touching her finger to her mouth as if coy. "It allows for storage of things that can't get wet. Very handy in my line of work, you know."

The rune-lights made Avarnaa look like a ghost, with her pale skin and starlight hair.

"What schemes do you have afoot, Avarnaa?" Malaya straightened. She knew how her pearl and gold crown would catch in the rune lights. Just as the Master rune-caster rings on her tail did.

But Avarnaa simply smiled, swishing her tail so her own gold rings clinked together. "Really, dearie, you say that like you do not trust me."

The words, so deceptively pleasant, would have fooled most. But Malaya knew that smile: that look on the southern myrmaid's face. It was the same one she had always worn when she had come up with an excellent plan or discovered a new rune-spell.

"If you harm my children, Avarnaa, you will suffer a face worse than death."

Avarnaa raised a single brow. "All magik comes at a price, dear Malaya. You know that as well as I. And if they agreed to the terms there is nothing you can do."

Malaya turned her back on the Sea Witch. Her one-time friend.

But the Sea Witch's voice found her as she was leaving.

"They paid with their sirens' songs, dearie."

… **.**

The early morning sun shining through gaps in the dense canopy above their heads revealed a blood splattered ground, with discarded torn cloaks. The once pristine soft white fur that lined those cloaks were matted and dirtied and upon them sat the three survivors of the group. They sat with wide eyes, staring into the trees as if the vampyres would appear at any moment to tear them limb from limb. Three pairs of blue eyes set in small pale faces that were smeared with blood and dirt. She couldn't tell which of the three was bleeding more from their wounds, but the salty metal tang of blood filled the air.

Anya was crouched next to Adamyr, whom Vasaanta had propped up against a tree. His gaze was even as his wife spoke to him in a low voice, his golden eyes darkening. The sapphire-winged fae was dabbing at a large gash in his forehead, where one of their attackers had slashed at him in desperation. Dark strands of normally gold framed her face, as if one had attempted to dye the Fae King's curls with blood.

But it was not just pain that shone in those golden eyes, Anya could see the weariness in his limbs, the heaviness when he tried to move – he could cast no more rune-spells with shaking hands. His magikal energy had been expended in his attempt to protect his people.

 _They_ had suffered no casualties, only minor injuries and weariness.

"What do we do with _them_?" Vasaanta directed her question to no one in general, jerking one of her knives in the direction of the three dazed humans.

Anya knew they had to move on, none of them wished to spend another night on the forest floor; they only wanted the sanctity of their Palace. The safety that only rune-protected walls could provide.

"W-What are you going to do to us?" the human who spoke was barely coherent, scarcely raising her voice above a whisper, stuttering at Anya looked down upon her.

"Why did you attack us?"

"We stumbled across your campsite last night, all we wanted were supplies," it was the man who spoke, his eyes icy blue. Anya's eyes trailed across the dark blue vest he wore – dyed leather favoured by the humans of City. The shoulder of the vest was stained with blood, parts torn off to reveal the gory mass that was unidentifiable as a shoulder. The fangs of one of the werewolves had sunk into his flesh; the wounds seemed to bleed into a deep red almost black colour. She could see in his pale blue eyes that he was moments from kneeling over from the pain and collapsing. But she knew if he so much as closed his eyes he would not awaken. She wondered idly if he knew.

"You have been following us since we left the City. Why?"

"Hush Faara, you'll do nothing but make it worse," the woman snapped. She winced in pain as she moved, glancing up at Anya's face. Three jagged lines marked her upper arm, deep and angry, and Anya could see the beginnings of infection creeping in. The woman's stony eyes seemed to meet Anya's for a mere second before she blanched, any determination trickling from her body.

"If you do not tell us willingly I feel no unease at tearing through your mind," Anya's voice betrayed nothing, the human would not know that she could do no such thing, nor would she. But the effect of her words on the three was immediate.

A strangled sob left the throat of the last male. "There was a bounty on your head. Land and gold," his voice was breathless, almost wheezy; but Anya could detect no lie, it was simple fear that changed his voice so drastically. His pupils were wide in defiance of the morning light that shone directly upon his face through an opening in the canopy, his lower lip trembling.

Anya could almost see Adamyr's eyes narrowing. But the man would not detect the small change, the barely perceptible tightening that cast shadows across high cheekbones from his sooty lashes.

"Who placed the bounty?" Anya let her voice drop, as if she were warning them of the danger they were in.

"We don't know," the woman answered her once more, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. She was slumped forward slightly, as if a great burden rested upon her shoulders. "They told us you were dangerous. We were only trying to kill the little princess. We did not know you would be with her."

She only barely heard Adamyr's hiss of anger from behind her.

"Anya, don't," it was Vasaanta's voice, a low growl.

Anya did not waver; instead she raised her sword, nesting at the base of the man's throat where his pulse beat as rapidly as a hummingbird's wings.

"Please, _lady_ , please," the man was openly sobbing, the crystalline tears falling from his eyes like petals from a dying rose. His body shook like a leaf, trembling limbs almost vibrating. " _Please_."

Rage hummed in Anya's veins.

"Leave. Now. Before I change my mind. And if I ever see you again, I will kill you."

Her flame-like wings fluttered behind her.

No one would touch her daughter.

Whoever had tried would die.

… **.**

The archery yards were quiet as Aelarra rested beneath the shade of the roof, out of the scorching midday sun. Her legs were weary, her feet sore in the tight silk slippers and her throat dry, but it was not enough to make her wish for her tail.

She hoped her skin would not burn again, the redness was unsightly – she was not used to being in direct sunlight and there was so much for her to explore she could not help herself. She had no wish for one of those parasols she had glimpsed ladies of the Human Court carrying, cumbersome things.

And so she fanned herself lightly with her hand, seeking a quiet respite in the shade. One hand rested on her neck, pulling at the lace that clung tightly to her skin. It was pretty, but hot.

And then she was alerted to a new sound.

She poked her head out of her hiding place to see a solitary figure with a longbow, an arrow at the ready.

Three arrows already burrowed in the red centre of the target opposite him.

His unruly chocolate curls were damp with sweat, as was his open cream-coloured shirt.

"You can come out you know, I'm not going to bite," he did not turn, but his voice was warm. Full of laughter. How long had he been there?

The arrow found its mark with a thud, and she moved into the sunlight. Towards the warm stranger.

He spun and face her, leaning casually on the bow he had been using with such skill. Sapphire eyes widened as he took in her form. "Princess, I meant no disrespect."

Aelarra grinned holding out her hand as she had seen some humans do. She had been fascinated by all she had seen in the Human Court the week past, most of all by Prince Laric whom she had glimpsed only on occasion and at a distance. She wanted to get to know him, to let him love her as she loved him. But none of the humans had been pleasant; she could feel the hostility radiating off them. But she felt none of that from the man before her, who seemed somewhat familiar. "My name is Aelarra, not Princess."

He took her hand, not shaking it as she thought he would, but kissing it softly.

She blinked.

He grinned. "My name is Dayton. Dane to most. It's a pleasure to meet you, 'Aelarra not Princess'."

 _Prince_ Dayton.

Laric's brother.

She could see it, for they had the same sapphire eyes and the same chocolate hair – but where Laric's were cropped short, Dane's fell across his forehead and down his neck in gentle curls. Dane's face was softer; no less handsome, but gentle. A kindness that was a different kind of charm.

"I apologise I have not yet gotten the chance to introduce myself," he continued with an easy grin. "But it seems you've found my hiding place."

"Your hiding place?" Aelarra cocked her head to the side. Why did the prince need to hide? Was he not beloved by all? Surely they would not treat such a man unkindly. Her eyes almost widened at the thought.

"Court is so boring," he laughed, in explanation. "Endless negotiations at the moment. You've got the better end of the deal, I tell you. Getting to explore whilst your sister is stuck inside."

"I've not been beyond the castle walls, yet," she sighed, sitting on the fence beside him. It was nice, she thought, to be able to just talk to someone. "Too dangerous I suppose."

"I'm sure you laugh at danger, how much more dangerous can it be than luring fishermen to their deaths?"

Aelarra's mouth popped open in shock and she stared at him.

Did he really think…?

His sapphire eyes were twinkling, his mouth curling up at the corners. As he fought not to laugh.

He was _teasing_ her.

And then she laughed, peals of joy that escaped her mouth. She could not control it. It was good to laugh again.

He grinned, lifting his bow once more and they fell into an easy silence.

Watching from atop the fence she observed the way the string was drawn back to lever the arrow, anchoring against his full mouth, before sending it flying with deadly precision.

"Taking an interest in human weapons, princess?" Dane grinned. "Perhaps I should report you."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "We have nothing like these…bows and arrows. Myrfolk use only swords and spears. Nothing else works Below save for rune-casting."

"Do you wield any weapons, Princess?"

Aelarra snorted, she couldn't help it. "No, Chanda is the warrior of our family. I must admit I'm rather useless, for more likely to injure myself with any weapon. Though Mykaela is more than proficient with knives."

Dane raised a brow and laughed. Not at her, for she was laughing too. "I guess that means your sister is dangerous is far more ways than one."

… **.**

Mykaela fanned herself lightly, legs stretched before her as she waited for one of the useless pages to return with a cold drink for her. Footsteps alerted her to the presence of another.

She felt who it was without having to turn and look at him. She recognised his light footsteps, far lighter than any human, as if he were merely gliding over the ground.

Gawayn, the insufferable Ambassador for the Fae King.

"You shouldn't do that you know," he said softly in her ear, his lips caressing the soft shell. She glanced up at him through her dark lashes, at those silver eyes that were so different from any myrmen. And so different from the muddy colour that humans possessed.

" _Oh?_ And why not?"

"If you don't like being here you shouldn't have volunteered. Breaking hearts will not help our cause at all. Myrfolk like you are one of the reasons humans do not trust us."

Was he…lecturing her? _Her?_

"Tell me, are you one who lures men to their deaths?"

And then he was gone, leaving Mykaela to blink at empty space.

"My lady, your refreshment." The page boy did nothing to receive her murderous glare – but the fae who she wanted to direct it at was nowhere in sight.

"Thank you, that is all."

She was left clutching her cup. Even if she had wanted to lure men to their deaths she couldn't. Not until she crafted a new sirens song. Which she had to do.

For she did not want the Sea Witch to control her by using it.

… **.**

Malaya swam in circles, biting her lower lip in a nervous habit that none ever saw.

"What is the matter, my dearest?" Aryan halted her circles, placing his hands on her upper arms. Those beautiful eyes, so much more green that her light-sky-blue, looked into her own. Concern. Love. "What ails you so? Do you fear for our daughters?"

"I do. I do not trust Avarnaa. She has their songs. She will use them to force them to her will when they return to the sea."

"Why does she do it? What is her motivation?" He held her close and Malaya rested her head against her husband's bare chest as their tail brushed.

 _Because she wanted you. She wanted our Kingdom. She always has. But why?_ "I will send a message to Kairavi. The Sea Witch is from the South. If they have any information on her, I will ask Kairavi to find it."

The Myrking of the South, their daughter's husband, had a vast library. A greater collection than any other.

"You think that will give us insight into her motives?"

 _She has never been able to create a sirens song. It is what she wants more than anything. To control people._ Malaya knew the Sea Witch's mind well. But she did not know the why. "Hopefully Kairavi can find us something."

… **.**

Nuvian stood by the King's side as his son bowed slightly to him. The King's personal study Alexandyr's haven, with books and all manner objects lining the shelves haphazardly, including an array of knives and various bottles. Sunlight shone through a large window which took up the entire back wall, shining directly upon the massive oak desk.

Through the window the palace courtyard could be seen, bustling with people. Nuvian did not let his scowl show when he glimpsed the two laughing figures.

The younger myrmaid princess, the foul fae-cursed creature whose unnatural blue-tipped curls bounced free of any restraint. She was laughing, and Nuvian was ever glad he could not hear the blood-curdling sound, or see the way the young prince would be glass-gazed in awe.

He had been discussing with the King the precautions that had to be taken against them, though the King did not know of his fae-hunting past. No, he would never know. For when Nuvian had arrived he had darkened both his and Siri's hair and they had become new.

And the King would listen to his counsel.

"I would have you take Princess Aelarra into the city, son."

 _What?_

Laric's disgust mirrored Nuvian's own. "I'm sorry father, you want me to what?"

 _He could not be serious._ Nuvian stared at the King. He had known nothing of this.

"Give the young myrmaid a tour of our great City. I want you to show her the sights, to make her have a good time. I want her to have good tales to tell her father when she returns to the sea."

"But-"

"You will do this, Laric. It is needed," Alexandyr's tone was final.

Laric left without another word.

"What will I do with him, Nuvian?" a sigh. A desperate plea.

But Nuvian was not so despaired. If the King did not share his opinion of the fae-cursed creatures he had let into the castle, at least the prince did. The prince believed what the fae-hunter had been telling him for the three years passed.

And the prince was to be King next.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 _ **Year 1, 217 of the Human Era**_

 _ **350 years passed**_

 _Malaya could not wipe the smile from her face as she rushed into Avarnaa's home._

 _The southern myrmaid perked up. But Malaya was unable to wait._

" _Aryan and I are to be wed!"_

 _She had expected squeals of joy perhaps, a congratulations at the least. She had not expected the deathly glare directed at her._

" _You will be happy, I am sure," Avarnaa snarled, her blue topaz eyes snapping. "_ Dear _friend."_

 _Malaya froze, nothing moving save her tail. Her heart constricted. "It was no competition for me Avarnaa, I thought you knew that. I love him."_ I don't just want his power _. The words were left unsaid, but they had been friends long enough that they did not need to be said aloud._

" _You've betrayed me, Malaya," Avarnaa snarled, backing away from her. "You've always taken everything from me. No matter how hard I tried."_

 _Malaya opened her mouth to protest but Avarnaa pressed on._

" _First I was never better than my sister, and now I am no better than you. You and Aryan will never be happy. I will never let you have what should have been mine."_

 _The next words she spoke sent darts of fear through Malaya. "I will make you suffer as I have suffered. You will never be happy."_

 _It was not a Curse, there were no runes behind the words, but one last glance at Avarnaa before she left told her that there may as well have been._

 _For she truly meant every word._

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Aelarra moved nervously atop the horse, a pretty thing of the softest cream. Sweet-tempered, she had been assured by the same stable man that had showed her how to use the reins. Gentle.

But she was nervous, to be stuck atop something, even though it was smaller than the whales she had swum with. If it reared she would fall to her death, and there would be nothing to save her.

Expect for Laric, who surely would.

For he was to give her a tour of the City which she had only briefly glimpsed on her way through. She was far beyond excited.

Far beyond ecstatic.

It was her chance to show Laric that he, too, could love her. And marry her.

He was stunningly handsome as he strode into the courtyard, one hand holding the reins of his midnight-coated horse, the other resting on the hilt on his sword. He mounted with grace, sitting easily astride his horse as it moved towards her seemingly without any guidance from him.

"You are ready, my lady?"

His voice. _Oh, his voice_. It sent shivers down her spine and she smiled. "As well as you, my lord."

"Laric, Aelarra! Wait!"

… **.**

Dane's mare tittered, happy to be moving as he caught up with his brother and new friend. He was glad that he had mentioned to his father that Aelarra wanted to see the City, which he had only had brief glimpses of while travelling to the Palace.

He had never seen her so happy before.

And her infectious smile had him grinning before he'd even drawn abreast of them.

"Mind if I join you?"

He could see Laric eyeing Aelarra warily, awaiting her answer. The more fool he. Even a blind man would see she had not a malicious bone in her body. She was a bright spirit that craved adventure. He would not let the malicious whispers of others taint what he could see with his own two eyes.

She tilted her chin at him, looking down at him despite her being so much smaller than he. "If you can keep up, Prince Dayton." She raised a delicate brow. Haughty. "Yah!"

Then she was off, her horse lurching beneath her as she kicked it into action. And then she was gone from the courtyard, her laughter ringing.

He met his brother's surprised face with a laugh. "Come brother. We best make sure she does not get lost."

He would make sure she had a good time.

… **.**

Kairavi trailed her hand along the rock shelf, looking around at sheet upon sheet of engraved rock. The library of her husband's Kingdom was vast. The histories of their people etched into the stone slabs.

Her blue-green tail swished nervously, her Masters rings clinked together.

She hoped that she would find something about the Sea Witch. For every birth in the South was recorded. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and continued searching, shivering.

As she had been for three hours passed. She had found Avarnaa's birth records but nothing more. She already knew that the myrmaid had seen near a thousand years. She and another had been born in the 568th year of the Human Era.

The water was still in the library, the doors always remained closed as to not disturb the treasures within.

She was about to give up when she saw it, an old painting, coated in some form of hardened clear liquid to keep it intact beneath the water. It was the Sea Witch, she looked exactly as she always had, with her hair as white as starlight and her tail that glittered like ice – similar to all southern myrmaids.

For as Kairavi's own people were the soft blues and greens of the tropical waters where they resided, her husbands' colours mimicked the cold and barren seas around their Palace.

She trailed her fingers across the exquisitely detailed painting. Avarnaa was smiling, looking up at man who touched her shoulder in a gentle caress. Kairavi felt her mouth pop open.

A fae?

Avarnaa's lover was a fae?

His wings had been captured perfectly by the unknown artist, the translucent appendages were the darkest blue where they met his shoulder blades, fading to a pale sky-blue at the tips. And he was smiling down at the Sea-Witch. His topaz-blue eyes sparkling.

Her eyes dropped to the date etched into the bottom. Year 560 of the Human Era.

No. Not her lover.

Her _father_.

Kairavi's ocean-blue eyes could not grow any wider. Avarnaa's father was a fae. A myrmaid and a fae had created the Sea-Witch. It made sense, she realised, in a strange kind of way. It was why she was so powerful, why she could do so many things no other myrmaid could.

"You'll catch a chill, my love," Elaethan's voice reached her from the doorway. She looked up to see him there, a cloak of her purest white draped across his broad shoulders. Swimming up to her, he removed it and placed it over her slender frame. For he was far more acclimatised to the cold than she. He had lived in the icy waters for near seven hundred years.

He stroked her swollen belly with a smile on his face as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

His fingers rested over the place where her child lay. Their child. Then he glanced at the painting she held.

"Oh, what information do you seek about _her?_ "

Kairavi glanced up at him in surprise. "You know this woman? The man?"

Her husband's pale blue eyes narrowed at the woman's face, distaste flickering across his beautiful features. "A trouble maker, she was. Always trying to stir up trouble, telling her daughter that she deserved more than anyone in our icy kingdom could offer. Tried to have me killed. She was so adamant that because of her fae blood, her daughter should rule over both land and sea – that she would be the most beautiful queen. And her daughter would do anything to achieve it."

Kairavi remembered all those times her mother had warned her and her sisters to stay away from the Sea Witch. Saying she would trick them into deals to seal their doom. "What of the man here, the father?"

"He disappeared not long after Avarnaa and her sister were born."

"Sister?"

"She was winged, rather than tailed. The father took her with him to the Frozen Lands. I think that is why their mother turned so bitter."

Kairavi bit her lip. "We must send this information to my parents. I fear my sisters are in grave danger from the Sea Witch."

The fae blood that ran through Avarnaa's veins was not like the fae of the north where her parents lived. The Southern Fae, the wild fae which inhabited the landmass near Elaethan's kingdom, were no friendly creatures. They were dangerous in a way that would be unprecedented in the north. They were cold and cruel.

They were evil.

And if Avarnaa had their magik…and their natures…

Kairavi feared for them all.

… **.**

Malaya watched her second oldest daughter, as she swum in the garden beyond in their Palace courtyard. Her dark blue cape fluttered behind her, her Master's ring clinking as she twirled, unaware of her audience.

"You worry for her." It was not a question that Aryan uttered and Malaya looked up into her husband's kind eyes. "You must not fret. She know what she is doing."

"She is powerful, yes. But that does not mean she has to be alone."

And dear Varenya, the rune-caster of their family, spent more time alone than she ever did before. She disappeared for hours on end. Malaya hoped that it was worry for her younger sisters that drew her away from society.

But the myrmaid queen knew that was not so.

… **.**

Aelarra laughed as she twirled, her feet sinking into the soft sand of the seashore. Dane had gone to get them food. And with abandon she had kicked off her shoes and danced across the beach, her laughter ringing around them.

She found herself not caring if Laric deemed her unladylike. She cared for nothing but the sweet sea-breeze on her face and in her hair.

"Aelarra, look!" Dane's voice prompted her to open her eyes and following his finger, she saw the pod of dolphins as they danced through the waves. Their cries of greeting soothed her soul and she waved to them.

They would know her.

All the dolphins did, for she was the youngest princess of the Myrking who loved to swim with them.

"Come eat, Aelarra," it was Laric's voice that called to her and she whipped about, eyes wide. He was smiling. At her.

Her heart melted within her, her legs suddenly weak as she skipped to them. Her wet skirts clung uncomfortably to her legs. But the food Dane had bought them smelled heavenly and nothing could stop the smile that graced her face.

"Uncomfortable?" Laric asked her as he helping her sit, his large hand encasing her own.

"These damn skirts are so restricting!"

… **.**

Lina awoke, trembling, her hand clenched into fists – small red crescents dotted her palms. Auburn curls clung to a clammy forehead and neck.

Her breath cam in shallow pants as the room before her swam.

She had once been Lady Nalini, raised as a rich merchant's daughter and unknowingly half-fae. The reason for her true-dreams was her mother's blood that coursed through her veins. Inactive, but present. But that was before the storm had sunk her father's fleet, before they had been forced to move to a remote farm beside a fae-cursed forest.

Before she had met and wed Elias.

"Are you well, my darling?" Elias's voice was soft, as to not awake their child – Kya – asleep beside them in her bassinet. "Do the dreams plague once more?"

She had kept them at bay for a time; it was only the rare glimpse that caught her unawares.

But the dream had been so vivid. So real.

Blood. So much blood.

Red for the humans. Silver for the fae. And the curious metallic blue-green of the myrfolk.

She did not recognise the figure who clasped at the rune-tipped sword that pierced through her heart. Wide eyes, with thick lashes, the colour somewhere betwixt blue and green, opening and closing in pain. Long chocolate curls, swirling into a strange blue colour at the ends.

Two pairs of blue topaz eyes. So similar yet so different.

And so much death.

She saw a war.

Fae and human.

Fae and myrfolk.

The fae-cursed and Cursed once more preying on the villagers for food after the death of their King and Queen.

She saw strange rune-spells, the like of which she had never seen before. Rune's carved in skin and dripping with blood.

Lifeless figures that walked, their eyes unseeing, hearts not beating in their chests.

And she could make no sense of it. Just the overwhelming sense of danger.

"We must go to Anya," she said softly. For the future was only set as long as one continued on the path they were on. Some things could change.

And some things could not.

"Everything depends on this, Elias." She trembled, looking at the bassinet with emerald eyes. "We cannot have a war. Too many would die." In her minds' eye she saw Anya and Adamyr's lifeless bodies, she saw baby Aaloka taken for prisoner. She saw herself telling Mariia to take Kya, her and Elias's own sweet child, and run whilst their village burned behind them. "We have to do something."

She ran through the flashes in her mind once more. She could not pinpoint any particular threat; could not determine its source. But she knew the myrfolk were the targets and that they had to discover who, or what, the threat was.

And she knew, if they found that out, they would find who had been attacking caravans of fae merchants and slaughtering their families.

"What is it, Lina? Who is in danger?" He held her softly, her head resting above his heart.

There was only one name she heard in the dream. The name the prince with sapphire eyes had called out as the girl lay dying.

"The myrmaid princess. The youngest one. Aelarra."

… **.**

She watched the myrmaid who twirled about the ballroom floor with eyes the colour of the sky; she wants to finish her as she finished the topaz-eyed fae who had held Nuvian prisoner. As she had finished the family of werewolves. And the vampyres as they slept in their caves.

She was more capable with a blade than perhaps her dearest little Anya had ever been.

She twirled onto the next partner, her sapphire skirts flaring about her – a lattice work of silken cloth and gold embroidery. Finer than anything the Beast could provide fae-cursed Anya.

She did not let any of her thoughts show on her face as she smiled winsomely up at the lord opposite her.

She kept her hands perfectly at her sides as the myrmaid twirled past her with her blue-tipped curls. She would not wring the pretty fae-cursed creature's neck. No, another fate would befall her.

She glances at the other pretty fae-cursed myrmaid, who was laughing at the Prince who sought to entertain her – the younger prince. Was it he whose bed she warmed at night and spread her thighs for? Or was it the older prince, whom she watched with dreamy eyes and batted her eyelashes at?

 _Probably both._

She glimpsed her reflection in one of the mirrors as she twirled passed – at eight and twenty she still looked as she had when they been cast aside and left for dead on that fae-cursed farm eight years passed. Bright sapphire eyes in a stunning heart-shaped face, soft lips of a heavenly rose, enough to tempt any man.

But her auburn curls which reminded her so much of fae-cursed Anya and insane little Lina were gone – in their place the now-chocolate locks had been twisted in an elegant bun atop her head. A style that many ladies at Court tried to emulate.

And all those handsome lords who spurned her before fell at her feet, promising her the world, though they did not know her as the daughter of Adresyn the ill-fated merchant. Inside, Siri laughed. They would not do for her.

She had someone who _could_ give her the world.

Siri let her smile show as she slipped into Nuvian's arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 _ **Year 1, 198 of the Human Era**_

 _ **369 years passed**_

 _Malaya laughed as she followed Avarnaa through the shallows, their tails shimmering in the sun as they skimmed the Surface, the sun's rays falling upon them uninhibited by the ocean._

" _What are you showing me?" Neither were out of breath as they slowed down, dipping to the side of a rocky outcrop upon which Avarnaa hoisted herself up._

" _Come up here and I'll show you," the Southern myrmaid was smiling_ that _smile. And drawn to mischief as she was, Malaya joined her friend._

 _It was a fae, a true fae, stunning and ethereal sitting upon the sand with a loom and a mirror before her. Her wings were like diaphanous emeralds, darker towards the tips of the fluttering appendages, a perfect match to her fae-green eyes._

" _Is that all?"_

 _Avarnaa smiled._ That _smile. "Just wait."_

" _Show me my daughter," the fae woman whispered the words, and Malaya could do naught but stare as the surface of the mirror changed._

 _The girl was perhaps five, with the same auburn curls as the fae woman, too young to have wings yet. She was laughing as a sapphire-eyed man spun her around. It was a happy scene – like something out of a painting._

 _And it was what the woman was weaving – an image of her daughter and the flame-winged man._

" _Kythaela, come here," the man in the mirror laughed as he chased the child._

" _It's a magical mirror," Malaya breathed, unnecessarily. "Rune-spelled to show whatever the user asks of it…"_

" _I want it," Avarnaa grinned. "And I will have it."_

 _Malaya could do nothing to stop her friend as she swam closer to the shore. The fae woman glanced up and turned those beautiful emerald eyes on the southern myrmaid, who Malaya knew would be meeting her gaze with her own topaz-blue eyes. A stunning colour so true as to be fae herself._

" _I will offer you a deal, fae-woman, for your mirror," Avarnaa spoke softly, but Malaya heard every word._

" _You may not have it, siren," the fae hovered a few inches above the sand, the fluttering ends of her gossamer gown soaked. "I will not bargain it away."_

 _Malaya saw Avarnaa's body stiffen, her ice-blue tail twirled in annoyance and then she threw her head back and laughed, her starlight hair swirling around her._

 _Dread crept through her and Malaya moved forward. "Come on, let us go," she urged her friend softly, turning away from the beautiful heart-shaped face of the fae before her. Away from those emerald eyes that seemed to see so much._

" _No," Avarnaa snarled. "I offered you a deal, fae. And you refused. Let you bear the consequences." It was as if the temperature of the air dropped, and bumps ran along her arms. "Never again will you look upon the world with your own eyes; never again will you know the warm embrace of a lover." Malaya's ocean eyes widened as she felt the words, felt them within her being as they passed through the air, imbued with runes._

 _The fae woman fell to the ground, her eyes wide. "No…"_

" _The only glimpse of the world you will receive through your precious rune-spelled mirror," Avarnaa was smirking and Malaya could not look away from her friend, a sick horror growing within her. "This is your curse, fae woman Elayne." And then she spoke the rune; a sealing. A promise. A_ curse _._

 _And then she was leaving, with a swish of her ice-blue tail she launched herself back into the shimmering depths._

 _And with an agonised glanced at the weeping fae, Malaya followed._

 _She would not learn of Elayne's fate for another fifty years. The news she had overheard one full moon when she had been dancing with the wild fae of the woodlands – unbound by the Fae Court yet still privy to their news._

 _Unable to look upon the world she had fled and made herself a tower by a beautiful flowing river that lead to the Fae Palace, surrounded by long fields of barley and rye. The windows were near the roof, for they let in light and air, but she could not see out of them. Her world was her room and she watched in her magik mirror as her daughter grew into a beautiful young fae, with wings of sapphire and long auburn tresses. She watched as her own daughter true-dreamt of the children she would die to protect and the human she would marry; unable to do anything to help._

 _And so she weaved the scenes she saw in her mirror, as she had that day by the shore; wove the precious scenes of her daughter's life so she would not forget. She concentrated solely on her weaving, never lifting her eyes._

 _But from those wild fae Malaya learnt that Avarnaa's curse did claim the fae-woman._

 _For through those small windows she had heard a voice – a voice she knew better than her own. Her husband's: singing by the river as he passed by, on his way to the Palace._

 _She ran from her room, leaving the tower, she had rushed to the river's edge. But she had been too late, weeping as she felt the curse taking seed within her._

 _She felt the mirror cracking as if it were her own body breaking._

 _The sky broke in two as the heavens poured, and in a boat she lay. She knew she would be dead before she reached the Palace. Before she reached her husband and daughter who had grown up without her._

 _And so she had sung. She had sung until her blood froze in her veins, until her eyes had darkened. And it was how her husband found her, unbreathing in the boat, in her hands a shard of the mirror._

 _The wild fae whispered to Malaya of his heartbreak, the way he wailed as he discovered what had become of his beloved Elayne. It was as if he had died on that day._

 _And it was on that full moon, dancing beneath the stars, that she realised that Avarnaa had known the whole time what was to happen._

 _And any hope that her one-time friend still had some seed of goodness within her vanished._

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

"How do I look?" Aelarra grinned as she put her hands on her hips.

"Why, you look quite fine, milady." Dane was laughing with her as she spun for him.

It was a page boy's uniform that she wore, blue breaches and a snug cotton shirt. Dane had it altered so they could go riding; he had remembered her complaints about the stifling nature of dresses.

It was thoughtful of him, she mused. So kind.

And it was not long after that they were sitting atop their horses. Racing. Laughing.

She glanced at him sidelong through her lashes. He was not s dashing as his brother, but he had a charm of his own. For female's eyes were drawn to him, as they passed. Envious glances thrown at her.

And she smiled.

She was lucky to have found a friend in him.

… **.**

The negotiations had been long and tiring, she felt weary to her bones and wanted nothing more than to submerge herself in the glistening ocean.

Yet, it was so far away.

She wondered what her family was doing, beneath the Surface where the dolphins frolicked. She wondered what Aelarra was doing that day with the princes. Mykaela hoped she was enjoying herself.

She sat on the grassy knoll within the Palace walls, her face turned up towards the sun. They had gotten nowhere that day, for the Fae King would not allow humans to come and go through his Court as they pleased. When King Alexandyr's advisors had demanded why, Gawayn had simply asked if they would allow any fae to freely roam through the Palace.

The advisor's face had turned ashen, no doubt imagining vampyres and werewolves stalking the halls and killing people in their sleep.

Mykaela had intervened, saying that the Fae still needed a sanctuary for themselves. Gawayn had glanced at her in surprise. But she'd shown no reaction. She was good at her Craft.

She thought of her Masters rings laying in her rooms. Unworn. But not unused.

"Do you lay there in wait for your next prey? Like a spider perhaps?"

His shadow darkened her and she opened her eyes to see the fae standing there, his silver wings glittering.

"You came, didn't you?" She winked at him, her lips tilted up – the perfect expression.

Gawayn rolled his eyes, silver eyes laughing. "I have a favour to ask of you."

"Oh?"

"My Queen came to me last night," he said. And the seriousness of his tone had her sitting up, watching him carefully. Dream-walking, he meant, and she stored that information away in her mind as something to tell her father. It seemed that the new queen was strong, for only the most powerful of fae could dream-walk. "There is something afoot in the Palace; one of the fae true-dreamed your sister's death."

Mykaela froze, and snarled, her hands going to her waist where her knives would normally be.

The fae placed his hands on her shoulders, his silver-gaze boring into her own. "Calm yourself, I'm telling you to watch out for her and be wary. The danger did not reveal itself I am simply asking you to be on your guard."

… **.**

Aryan swam in slow circles around the cove. It had always been a safe place for his people, with sheer cliffs all around which made it hard for humans to access it.

But something had changed.

He dipped his fingers in the green-blue shimmering liquid that was smeared across one of the rocks.

He had thought that his people had been trading with the Sea Witch for human bodies to be with their lovers.

But he had been wrong.

He had been so wrong.

The bodies of the three myrmen were twisted, misshapen, their tails stripped of their beautiful scales. Their green-blue blood tainting the water around them. Their blue eyes did not stare unseeing at the beautiful cove. No, they could not even do that. For the heads had been removed from the bodies, cleaved at the neck where blue-green blood had congealed.

Cuts criss-crossed over their bare chests, bodies stripped of gold-and-shell jewellery.

Chanda had come across it the day passed on her morning patrol. She'd burst into the throne room, eyes wide and lips trembling.

It had been a silver-tipped rune-blade which had taken the scales from the myrmen.

A human had attacked them.

But also…

He could feel a strange magik in the water, a magik that he did not know. One that he could not place. For it was not quite myr, nor quite fae.

He turned to his daughter, who'd helped him inspect the cove.

"Father?" Chanda gripped her bone-spear tighter. Her eyes were fierce. Protective of their people.

"Find me Naemira."

… **.**

The marble walls were the palest green, like the colour of sunlight shining through a leaf, shot with darker streaks and silver speckles. The drapes that hung across the wall served as a door into the private bathroom her chambers held.

"Why do you strive so hard to create a new sirens' song?" Aelarra asked and Mykaela paused, looking away from her reflection to meet her sister's pretty eyes.

 _Did she not know? Perhaps it was something that all myrfolk should._

"A sirens' song is the key to the myrfolk magik, it is our essence," Mykaela said softly. "If she can decipher our sirens' songs…she can control us, Aelarra."

 _She._ The Sea Witch.

It perhaps had seemed such a small price to Aelarra, her sirens' song for legs.

Her little sister had taken one of the platters the page boys had provided them with and sat on the luscious bed in the centre of the room; the drapes were thick and plush, the many pillows strewn over the bed were an assortment of greens, cream and gold. The ball of water that hovered above her palm flattened to become a disc, spinning tirelessly, controlled by a single rune-spell. Her eyes – too – moved like whirlpools, the colours swirling through each other as she used more of her magik, picking up small pieces of dried fruit with her other hand. "So…she owns us?"

"Not completely, she would have to change our sirens' song…weave something else into it after figuring it out." And Mykaela's sirens' song had been her pride and joy; so intricate, so beautiful. Irresistible. With so many runes woven throughout it, there was no way that any sailor would have been able to get away had she used it on them. And its intricacy was what was saving her; for the Sea Witch, once known as Avarnaa, would not decipher it. But she was taking no chances.

None of the princess's sirens songs had been simple.

Malaya had made sure of that.

 _In the off chance that they had to deal with the Sea Witch?_

"What do you think of the prince, Mykaela?"

Mykaela's perfect mouth opened, her sea-green eyes widened. "Humans are dangerous, Aelarra. They are fickle creatures. Their lives are too short, their flames burn too bright and too fast." But that flame…a soft smile crept onto her lips.

The flickering firelight that played across graceful limbs…the soft caresses over her silky smooth skin…the stunning dark eyes seared into her own, filled with desire.

She glanced across to find Aelarra's eyes on her. There was a reason that so many myrfolk took human lovers under a full moon.

"The prince will not love you, Aelarra, not as you wish," Mykaela sighed. "Humans do not love as fae do. There is no forever for them. They love passionately, yes. But it never lasts."

… **.**

Indiira rose in the dead of night to the lonely hooting of an owl somewhere in the village surrounding the castle. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the sleeping quarters.

Even the servant's quarters of the palace were more extravagant than the small room she'd shared with her four brothers. The walls remained the plain creamy colours of marble, with beds lining the walls. Those in the beds slept soundly, the deep, even breathing remained uninterrupted even as Indiira stood and stole silently out of the room.

Dressed in nothing but a thin shift she swung herself up onto the roof. The flat rooves made it easy for her to jump from roof to roof silently, unhindered by tiles or sloping rooves. She knew that it wouldn't have stopped her – her agility was far superior to most. But even so, the night air seemed to call to her. In the next leap she shifted, her body becoming larger covered in coarse grey fur. She landed on the next roof, her four paws making no noise, her ears twitching slightly as they picked up sounds. She watched as her white shift fluttered down to the ground with eyes that glittered gold. It was a peculiar sight, the light material discarded among the dust between houses – as if someone had thrown it there to blend into the darkness around them. She shook her head, wide eyes taking everything in with new eyes.

In the distance a tendril of smoke arose – as did the sweet scent of cooking meat.

The pitch of familiar voice caught her attention – whispering softly yet heatedly, trying to keep quiet. She followed the whispers as they drifted to her on the wind. Crouching low, Indiira made her way along the roof beam, soft paws padding lightly.

She knew that voice.

And she knew none would be looking to the roof to see a werewolf.

She could not help the growl that arose in her throat as she neared the rooms where the voices arose.

She shifted again, her human form bare to the night air. But it allowed her to slip through the roof beams and into the stables.

It was a good thing she was no longer in her wolf form, for she wouldn't have been able to restrain herself from launching at the woman who stood there.

Her hair may have been different, but Indiira would have remembered that voice anywhere. And the stormy eyes of the man beside her.

For it had been her voice that laughed as she slaughtered her brothers in their beds, their pained howls piercing the night air.

Silver tipped arrows slicing through the air as she was chased through the woods.

The fae-hunter and his fae-cursed lover.

Handing weapons to a man dressed in black.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 _ **Year 1, 563 of the Human Era**_

 _ **4 years passed**_

 _Dane paced the room he had been given, his mind awhirl. Though sore from weeks of travel, he could not find it within himself to sleep. He was restless, unable to stay still as the city teemed around him. Fae, he could have laughed aloud at the thought. Certainly if but a year before someone had told him that his father had opened the palace to the fae, he would have named them mad. Fae were a thing of horror stories, told in the night to children to make them behave. But he could not deny what he had seen with his own eyes._

" _Perhaps I am mad," he said to himself softly, pausing in his pacing to glance out the window, to look at the stars that watched him. "For to a mad man his delusions are as real as anything else."_

 _The knock on his door startled him, but he opened it never the less to reveal Lady Sirisha, a famed beauty of the Court who had arrived but a year passed. Her smile was demure, her sapphire eyes downcast as she held out a wineskin to him. "Queen Lauryn once told me that a fine wine will put even the most restless minds to sleep," she said in a voice as sweet and smooth as silk. The scent that arose from the wine and her skin was tempting, an allure he had to resist. The 'V' shape of her bodice dipped low to reveal a vast expanse of creamy white skin and the swell of her breasts. She was leaning on the door in such a way that caused the thin fabric of her dress to pull tightly against her lovely hips. The colour he could not discern, but the moon cast tantalising shadows between her long, slender legs._

 _His smile was gracious as he accepted the wineskin, her hand brushing his for the barest moment._

 _She uttered not a word, but swept into his room with a lovely smile, seating herself upon his bed as if she had every right to be there. He gripped the wineskin tightly, well aware that he wore nothing but his breeches, his soft linen shirt hanging haphazardly over the plain wooden stool. He knew that his father would not approve. Though_ her _father, like so many others, had given his life for the defence of his children. Killed by vampyres she had said._

" _Are you well, my prince?" her eyes looked up at him through darkened lashes, her smile never wavering as she leaned backwards slightly; the material of her dress drew tight over her full breasts. He hoped fervently that none had seen her enter his room. "Is there anything I can do?"_

 _He crossed the room in three strides, placing the wineskin on the desk bare of any objects. It looked at him almost accusingly as her exhaled softly, running his fingers through his dark curls. "My Lady, it is not appropriate-"_

 _Her soft finger on his lips stopped him. He had not even seen her move. But she stood nearer than a foot, looking up at him with those pretty sapphire eyes. His voice caught in his throat, as if something were lodged there. He could feel the welcoming heat rising from her skin, he could almost count her individual lashes that fluttered so temptingly. "In the midst of a war, very few care for frivolities such as decorum."_

 _He blinked. "My lady, I do protest. You must retire to your own chambers for the night."_

 _He could have imagined the anger that flashed through her eyes like lightning, so swift and startling. But as she closed the door behind her, he knew he had not. Sighing he lay on his bed, still warm, and closed his eyes. The wineskin lay forgotten on his desk as he drifted to sleep, dreaming of fae and myrmaids. Things that did not exist in the perfect world that the priests had preached._

 _In the hallway just beyond his closed door Siri seethed._

 _But she did not rage; she knew she had lost her chance._

 _She and Nuvian would have to think of another way to get close to the King; for the princes would not be seduced by her._

 _Too honourable._

 _She laughed softly to herself._

 _Not much longer._

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Aelarra gripped the reigns tighter, her fingers trembling as she rode back to the Palace. The night seemed so much darker than it ever had before on her nightly rides.

 _Don't leave the Palace by yourself_ , they had all said to her.

But never before had she taken heed. Never before she had believed she need to.

But the night felt sinister. She could almost see malicious eyes glittering at her through the trees.

No. Not eyes…

She recognised it as a dagger the moment before it sliced her cheek. A sharp pain.

And then there were arms on her, pulling.

Her mare reared and she fell.

She could not move away from them as Chanda had taught her how. For she couldn't just flick her tail like that.

Helpless.

No. Not helpless.

Aelarra snarled, her elbow connecting with a nose. A sickening crack. The words formed in her mind. It would be so easy. A rune-spell. She was about to speak the words when a muffled shout filled the air.

Sword on sword. Flashing in the light of the moon.

And then he was before her, pulling her away and into his arms. Laric. Onto his horse and then they were cantering away.

Laric.

He'd saved her. Rescued her as she had him so many years before. Her thanks were on the tip of her tongue, but again he stopped her from speaking.

"Did you use a sirens song to lure them?" His face was a mask of disgust as he slid from the horse, letting her get off herself. The stone of the courtyard beneath her feet had never felt so hard.

Her mouth fell open in shock. And in the torchlight she could see the hate in his eyes.

And it was as if her world had crumbled down around her, looking into the distrust in his sapphire eyes. And she wanted nothing more in that moment than to punch him in the face.

He was nothing like she had thought; he wasn't the handsome man from the ball. That man was an act which she had foolishly believed. He was no longer the carefree prince who played his pipe on the ship. That young man had been buried. Pushed aside by something that had been twisted to hate her kind. To hate the fae.

She had thought him different.

He had been different. _Before._

"If you truly thought that, Prince Laric, then why did you save me?" Her voice was cold, she knew it was. But she glared at him. Foolish prince. "You are no better than _them_."

It was then that she noticed she was bleeding, her shimmering blue-green blood, the colour of a beetles shell, splattered on the ground. She looked down at her arm, at the trickle of blood that steadily poured out.

And then she was falling, the world dark around her.

… **.**

Avarnaa laughed with glee as the princess fell, the perplexed prince catching her. She had not anticipated such a response from the humans – but it was more than she could have hoped for. She'd not wanted to harm the little princesses, not to start with, but they were an obstacle in her way. Everything was turning out according to her plan.

She spoke the rune that ended the seeing spell.

"Now, do you think you can do that?" She turned to the hooded figure behind her. Who had carefully watched every step of the rune-spell.

A rune spell that gave the caster the ability to use the shard of enchanted mirror before her.

"Yes." Her pupil's voice was sure, unwavering.

And Avarnaa smiled once more.

Yes. Everything was going exactly to plan.

… **.**

She was sitting up in the bed when he entered the infirmary, her face pale and drawn. A long cut ran across her cheek, though it did not look as if it would scar. It was the deep gauge on her arm that had the healers worried.

The rune-blade had cut deep and they had no way of healing it. For they had never healed a fae before. The wound would not stay closed – for the sword had been dipped in silver.

Dane passed her older sister as she left, her blue-green eyes narrowed as she passed him. But she nodded her head slightly in acknowledgment, her silver and blue skirts billowing behind her. The door closed with a thud.

"What's her problem?"

"She has a challenge. And the challenge is winning." He noted idly that she must be feeling a little better to make a joke. The fae healer would be arriving later than day.

He hoped.

"Father has agreed to give you the defence lessons," the prince said softly. "Should such an attack occur again, you need to be able to do something. Though by the blood on the ground, it looks like you got one good shot at least."

"I think I broke his nose with my elbow," she smiled softly, and then grimaced.

"Why did you leave alone anyway? That was stupid, Ara," the shortened name slipped from his tongue without thinking. But the myrmaid princess did not blink – though he knew that unlike her sisters, she had no nick-name.

"I needed some air," she said softly. "I needed the sea."

He smiled at her and punched her chin slightly. "You had better be feeling better tomorrow. You'll have to get up early for training."

She groaned and lifted the covers above her head.

He laughed at her.

 _Why did she have to be in love with his brother?_

… **.**

He watched as the boat approached, the ripples reaching him even from such a distance. Closer and closer it got until Aryan could view the woman within. She wore a dress that covered her from head to foot, a veil covering everything but her ocean-blue eyes.

Naemira.

She had been named Cursed many years passed, she had asked a human rune-caster to turn her into a human. So she could be with her human lover on land. But there was a price for the magik, there always was. For whilst half of her face was still as beautiful as it had been as a myrmaid, the other half was criss-crossed with scars, as was the part of her neck that was visible.

Not fae-cursed.

No.

Human-cursed.

… **.**

Naemira rowed, never tiring. Though she dreaded seeing her once-king.

Her lover had promised her that any price was worth being with her. That he would always love her. But when he saw her face, he had been repulsed. He had left her, on the side of the road with nothing but her name – a fae name, Cursed and cast aside. She had sought refuge in one of the temples, where they asked her nothing but what she was willing to tell. And there she had stayed since; so when she had felt the magikal call of her King, she had been shocked. The vase she had been washing had slipped from her fingers, shattering on the tiles, the fresh lilies scattering. And there they had lain forgotten as she heeded the call, going to the seashore and purchasing a boat from a poor fisherman. She knew he would get a good price for the strand of pearls she had given him.

His daughter had greeted her there. The warrior one she heard of in whispers.

And looking upon her King she felt ashamed – of ever wanting to leave. For thinking a human was worth giving up her tail, for there was nothing she wanted more than to swim beneath the waves – the bathing pools at the temple could not compare to the ocean and all its beauties.

But even her King could not give her back her tail.

"What do you wish of me, my King?" she did not raise her eyes to meet his, she kept her head bowed. But still she felt his presence, that power that radiated from him.

"I need you to take a message to the Fae King. It is something that none else can do."

And her heart soared.

… **.**

Kairavi had almost released the contents of her stomach when the scouts showed them the bodies – bodies which had been there for near five-score years. And even in the solitude of her rooms she shivered.

Their heads had been gone.

Their bodies left to be eaten.

No myrmaid deserved to die in such a brutal way.

And there had been eight of them. Eight myrfolk whose ice-like tails would never flash as they swam around icebergs. The oceans would never sing with the voice of their sirens' songs.

Elaethan had held her gently, chiding her for insisting she see.

But she had wanted to, even knowing what had happened. She needed to see. She needed to know.

And then once more she had scoured the libraries.

Why decapitate them?

She had found old scrolls telling of how the most powerful rune-casters of old had used the stolen sirens-songs of myrmaids to reanimate fallen myrfolk.

She glanced at the scroll her mother had sent her, what seemed like an age passed.

And her mouth fell open in a perfect 'O'.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."

"Kairavi, what is it dear?" Elaethan's dark brows furrowed as he swam to her.

She opened the scroll she had found. "A true Master Rune-caster does not need the full body to bring the myrfolk back to life."

"What?"

"Just the head." And it was as if everything clicked into place. Her mother had always told her that the Sea Witch could not create her own siren-song. So she had been trying to find ways to take them from others. "She can do many magiks that no other myrfolk can because of the fae blood."

No, mother. She did not want them for herself.

"Elaethan I must warn my family."

"You cannot–"

Kairavi hugged him, her swollen belly between them. "I must, my dear. Avarnaa will not risk killing me."

He was at war with himself, she could see the battle in his beautiful eyes.

"I can move faster than your army, dearest. And I know the quickest ways."

"I will be right behind you with the army."

… **.**

The rolling hills opened before them, the small forest just beyond. Not a cloud tumbled through the sky as they unpacked their picnic under the shade of an oak tree. The guards stood at the foot of the hill, enjoying their own lunch – close enough to see them still, yet far away to pretend it was just the two of them.

Aelarra smiled, taking in the breathtaking view before her.

"I would never have seen any of this under the light of a full moon," Aelarra breathed, spreading her arms wide and spinning. "I never would have thought it was so beautiful. So different from what I imagined."

"You imagined our Drylands to be not beautiful? To be ugly?" Dane raised his brows, playing with one of the arrows that he had pulled from his quiver. His bow lay unstrung at his side – he had insisted on taking it with them on their explorations.

She'd seen so much of the Drylands with him, each thing he showed her more amazing that the next. She had walked through gardens, beautiful artworks of flowers, their colours bright, their scents heavenly. She grinned at him, she would not let her experience with the thugs dampen her spirits – a few humans were not representative of them all. "It's just so much…more."

He smiled at her, that silly lop-sided grin that he gave her so often. "You are not what any of us expected either."

He did not say what they were both thinking. She was not what Laric thought her to be. But nothing would bring her down – for each day since the attack she had spent a few hours alone with Laric – she would make him see she was not one of the sirens from the old tales. "Your lives are so short, but as a race your memories are long. You do not forgive, nor do you forget."

"Many people's grandparents and ancestors were killed by the fae, Aelarra, even in the Fae King says they were Cursed," he said softly, his sapphire eyes downcast. "It has only been recently that the fae stopped preying upon humans. And still not all have stopped."

She knew all about the Cursed Fae, all Myrfolk did. For they too had Cursed. A fae who had been cast out from Court, banished. They were dangerous and answered to only themselves. And yet… "Dane, many fae's parents…their lovers, were killed by humans," Aelarra sat, crossing her legs and leaning against the tree. "Our lives are longer, it was not generations ago, for us, that our kind were massacred."

"I didn't mean…" his voice trailed off as his eyes widened. She knew what he meant, that the pain the fae felt was no lesser. But did he blame them still?

"The Cursed have done terrible things, but so have humans," Aelarra shuddered, thinking of the myrfolk who had been caught, unsuspecting, in fishermen's nets. How their tails had been skinned, their lifeless bodies thrown back into the ocean for another to find. Their blood had been used by human rune-casters in their potions. And those atrocities, they had not stopped. "We cannot keep blaming each other for wrongs committed by others."

Dane frowned in thought. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

Aelarra grinned. "I was born in the dawning of the year 1, 542." She'd seen only two-score and five years, but a single year more than he.

Dane's mouth fell open and he laughed. "But I heard Mykaela speaking of the War of the Fae, as if she witnessed it with her own eyes."

"She did," Aelarra said. For her sister had been nearly three score when the war had begun, she had seen the death of the Fae King. "I was born to peace."

"And yet you seem wiser than my father's advisors," Dane snorted. He did not like the stuffy men, who wore more gold than even his father did.

"Wisdom does not come with age," she smiled. "You humans seem to forget that."

 _But I am not wise in all ways,_ she thought, looking out once more at hills before them as they fell into an easy silence. For in the matters of the heart she was a mere babe.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 _ **Year 1, 547 of the Human Era**_

 _ **20 years passed**_

 _She had been wed perhaps a few months when she witnessed the first coming-of-age ritual in the South. They did not simply gain their legs under the full moon and walk ashore. For the land of the South was not like the land of the humans. The icy landscapes teemed with wild fae who were bound to no Court. There were great creatures long forgotten from human memory, great whit lizards with wings and an icy breath; bears bigger than giants. She had shivered when her new husband had told her, thinking it fanciful._

" _What is this rite when you get your legs?"_

" _We go hunting, of course," Elaethan had laughed at her puzzled expression. "Upon the land, and bring back the head of one of the creatures. But no one is ever clever enough to kill a true fae."_

 _For the bodies had to be burnt, she found out later – the wild fae of the South had a strange magik. A blood magik that they could use to raise the dead, though they had trouble controlling those they brought back._

" _I hope we have a daughter, my love," she told him, thinking of the children they would one day have. "I would want no son of mine battling dragons and wild fae."_

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Nuvian watched from atop the parapet as Laric circled the myrmaid princess. Though she was quite useless with the sword, he could see in her a determination to learn, holding it in the arm that was bandaged from wrist to elbow.

To be better.

The lessons had spanned only a week, but she did not drop the weapon as much as she did when they had started.

"He's softening," Siri scowled at his shoulder. She wore her cloak, despite the heat around them, a parasol to keep the sun from her fair face. "Perhaps he is more weak minded that we thought. Perhaps she weaves a siren-song around him."

Nuvian shook his head, watching the pair closely. "She can't be; I've put runes everywhere in the Palace to stop it. It is simple feminine wiles that she's using, much like what your sister tried with me. She's so weak and helpless that he feels she can't be a threat."

"Are we going to lose him?"

"Not if I have anything to do about it."

… **.**

"What? Why?" Laric's question was reasonable.

Dane stared at their father, just as Laric did. Marriage? Now? When he'd never touched upon the subject before.

Never before had the King forced the idea of marriage upon his sons. Never.

"I cannot afford for my Heir to fall for any of the fae that may be in the palace," Alexandyr said sternly.

Did he mean a certain aqua-eyed myrmaid princess whom Laric had been spending more and more time with? There were more fae in the Palace and City than there had ever been before. At least in the last 200 years.

"I want an alliance with the fae, Laric, a strong one," the King inhaled deeply. "But the human King must always be that, human."

Dane stopped listening to his father then, as he explained that the princess would arrive in a few nights. A ball would be held in her honour. A princess of Kiishor – the desert lands across the mountains to the east.

Aelarra would be devastated. He did not miss the way she looked at Laric. He hoped that she would understand.

… **.**

The three of them cantered down the path, Aelarra laughing freely. Proud that she could keep up with the both of them atop the horse. A natural rider, Dane had said. She was glad her arm had healed fully, with the help of the fae-healer. But she was even more grateful that the lessons she had each day with Laric had helped him see that she was not the kind of monster he had thought she was.

They stopped when they reached the cliff, veering off the road for a brief rest a while in unspoken agreement.

Laric dismounted first, helping her dismount his hand lingered on her waist. Her heart beat faster in her chest. And she had to tell herself firmly that she could not have him.

Not anymore.

He was to wed another.

They sat near the edge of the cliff as Dane tethered the horses to a near tree. Aelarra grinned as she sat, in those dark blue breeches that Dane had had tailored for her so long ago.

Laric sighed. "Would your father ever force you to marry?"

Aelarra turned her gaze to the sea, its glittering depths that hid so much. Kairavi's marriage to the Southern King had been one of power. But… She had known Elaethan and had cared for him long before her father had suggested the match. And he had forced none of her other sisters to wed. "No, he would not." She smiled softly. Sadly. The sun dipped low on the horizon.

"I can't marry Princess Bethalynn. I _can't_." Aelarra held her breath, watching the prince through the corner of her eye. "For I love another."

"Another?" Breathless.

"There was a girl, eight years passed," Laric told her, quietly. Perhaps he did not want Dane to overhear. "There was a great storm, I do not know if it affected your Kingdom below the waves. But we were out on the sea. My ship sunk. The girl saved me. I can marry no one but her. She had been in my heart all these years."

 _As you've been in mine_. He loved her. He did not know it was she who saved him, but he loved her. _Her._ Mykaela had been wrong.

Her heart soared. "Laric, I–"

"Ara, Laric, we must go before the sun sets," Dane called to them.

Laric offered her a small smile and helped her stand – his hand is so warm and perfect in hers that it hurt her to let go.

… **.**

Gawayn entered the King's solar, thudding into the body that was exiting.

"Excuse me," the voice growled.

Gawayn looked down, startled at the venom that the Sword-master spat forth. The fae-knight moved to the side to let him past, the hem of his sapphire cloak brushing the fae's boots – the runes stitched in glinted in the soft light. There was something familiar about him; but he had no memory of any human with coal black hair and stormy grey eyes.

"Ah, Lord Gawayn," Alexandyr said, his voice cheerful. "I'm glad you could come."

The sun had nearly set before they had reached an agreement – that fae would be allowed to set up stalls in the harbour-side markets. He would consider granting some of the estates in the city to the fae – notable fae of course, if the Fae King would offer the same to humans who would wish to reside in _his_ Court.

As he left, he wondered idly what Mykaela's negotiations consisted of. For they did not have the same opportunities that fae of the land did. He knew what her father's main concern was, however: the safety of his people.

… **.**

Naemira woke in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen, to the astute feeling of hungry eyes on her. The small clearing she had slept in was silent; her horse gone. She was still cloaked in darkness, the last embers of her fire lay dying in a broken pile.

Fear gripped her heart.

She knew the forests were those that had been created as a safe haven by the Fae Queen Haviira so many years passed – and it was to those forests that the Cursed retreated. Preying on unwary travellers who thought themselves safe from the fae in a time of uneasy peace.

She could almost feel them stalking through the trees that surrounded them, edging ever closer.

Panic rose within her, frantic and strong as she lay shivering. Though there was no cold.

She lay as still as stone, her hands still tucked under her head as they had been when she slept

Naemira was afraid, she was not too proud to admit.

"Do not move," the voice was as cold as the blade that pressed against her neck, a coldness that could have rivalled the frigid waters of the South where she had travelled but once. Her hand stilled on the bejewelled hilt of her sword, the turquoise reflecting the dying embers of the fire and the tall shadowy form behind her. Male or female, she could not tell, shrouded in a cloak that brushed against the ground, the hood drawn up to cover the face. Nor could she place the accent of the speaker.

But she knew they had not been in the forests long. They were too _clean_.

In the next instant she was dragged to her feet, harsh fingers biting into the nape of her neck, and forced against a tree.

It was then that her gaze swept the clearing that had once seemed so welcoming. She counted ten intruders, their swords and spears levelled, but the crack of a twig underfoot alerted her to more in the shadows. Or perhaps the werewolves or vampyres.

Her twin swords lay discarded on her bedroll, their wicked blades hidden in their plain scabbards.

"And what might an ugly thing like you be doing out here all by yourself?" the man who spoke held a foot long knife, its curved blade dancing with light. His hood obscured his face, but she could hear the snarl that coloured his voice. "Are you one of those foul creatures who offers themselves to the vampyres for blood? A lover of theirs?"

He thought her human.

Naemira did not move, even as the man grabbed her by the waist, pulling her flush against his body.

The man pressed his blade deeper and a trickle of blood appeared, slowly, so slowly, tracing down her collarbone. The drop of metallic blue-green disappeared between her breasts and beneath the leather vest.

He snarled. "A myrmaid!"

She could not discern who they were, nor what they wanted. They weren't slavers, that much she was certain. "Why don't you sing for us, little siren? We have travelled far this night and are need of entertainment." His knife slid slower, resting on the laces that held her vest together. He pressed down and with an audible snap the laces gave way beneath the blade. The aquamarine of her dress was revealed, the colour of the blood that was smeared unmercifully across her cheek and collarbone.

"By the Angels," one of the human's breathless whisper was lost in the low growl that filled the night air. Low, wild and feral.

… **.**

They were close to the border between the Kingdoms, Kairavi could tell by the change of temperature. The water grew warmer. It was easier to breath.

And yet they were still so far from either Palace.

She had not realised how much she had missed her home. Relief flooded through her at the thought of being able to see her family.

A smile graced her lips.

But her reverie was broken when the guard to her left cried out in pain.

Then she couldn't breathe.

It was as if the air had been sucked from the water around her.

And the last thing she saw was a pair of topaz-blue eyes in a face surrounded by starlight hair.

… **.**

Naemira shook; she could not help it as those tawny gold eyes stared at her with hunger. A hunger that could easily devour her very soul. It was a wolf, yet unlike any wolf she had ever laid eyes upon. As dark as night, only its face and paws were visible, the rest of its body fading into nothingness as if it were made of mist. The fur that was visible seemed to swirl and change as she stared, unable to move. The blade nicked into her skin like the bitter kiss of winter, cold and unforgiving. It was a woman holding her; she was sure now, one whose pale blonde hair had escaped the hood of her fur-lined cloak. The woman's hand shook and a small stab of pain shuddered through her body as warm blood trickled down her spine.

 _By all Below, someone save me_ , she prayed. There was another snap of a twig as firelight from the strangers' torches moved through the clearing, the shadows moving as if they were alive. She saw faces in them, grinning lecherous, outstretched arms that reached for her.

Naemira turned in a blur of movement, blood spraying across the ground as the man's sword sliced through her shoulder, biting deep through leather and flesh as she moved. The palm of her hand met his nose with a deafening crunch. His hood fell back, revealing short pale brown hair and a face that would have been pleasant to look upon before his nose had disappeared into his skull. The blood dripped freely and he clutched at it, stumbling backwards slightly. Naemira watched, her stomach threatening to spill its contents, as the wolf behind him moved closer in anticipation its eyes filled with animalistic rage. The man cried out.

Naemira saw it in slow motion as the man fell backwards into the shadows, his cry far more than scared. It was his arm that was covered in darkness first. The werewolves circling them were yapping and growling. Naemira watched as the creature opened its shadowy maw, latching onto the appendage within reach. The man's scream changed from scared to hysteric and it was as if the shadow was engulfing him. His bloody face sought the myrmaid's for a single moment before he was tugged backwards sharply.

Then he was gone, as if he had never been there; his cries echoing as if he were in a cavern of great depth.

"Teasal!" it was a woman's voice, tortured, cracked and raw. It was as if a spell had fallen over the camp, cast by a spell-caster of such evil intent that it forced them to watch the morbid scene. None could tear their eyes from the place where the man had disappeared.

The wolf howled and Naemira heard a sickening crack and the soft tearing of flesh. But neither the werewolf nor the body of the man were visible. A deep black pool of blood seeped into the ground.

It was a woman's snarl that filled the air as she raised her torch high; the woman who had screamed with such pain. Her hazel eyes flashed with agony and fury, her lips pulled backwards in a ferocious snarl. The werewolves jumped backwards, their fangs bared and dripping, their eyes flashing with malice as she dove forward. But the light did not reveal the werewolves, who merely darted backwards to avoid the flame. Yet as she moved forward into the dark, the shadows closed in behind her as she disappeared between the trees. Naemira barely heard her blood curdling cry before it was cut off. Goosebumps ran along her arms like wildfire, leaving a path of coldness in their wake.

Howls filled the air and the makeshift campsite was suddenly a hive of activity, ropes were dropped as the attackers frantically tried to regroup, their weapons held in trembling hands.

Another scream.

The man had stepped backwards, his foot barely touching the shadow before a midnight muzzle had clamped around his ankle, tearing through muscle and snapping bone.

Closing her eyes as if it could shield her from the monsters that fought from the shadows, she could not close her ears from the terrified screams or the snarls of the werewolves.

And so she did the only thing she could think of; she cast a shield rune over herself a moment before they leapt at her. It hit the shimmering blue shield a scant foot from her. And the first crack appeared, a hairline fracture.

But she saw those tawny-gold eyes narrow as they saw it.

A fracture could always grow bigger.

And soon her shield would break.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: A short one, but such drama. Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun. ENJOY : )**

 **Chapter 12**

 _ **Year 618 of the Human Era**_

 _ **949 years passed**_

 _Her sister with her pretty ice-coloured wings was adored by their father – he taught her all his great magiks. And it was their mother that taught Avarnaa – her stunning mother who had daughter a powerful wild fae with her siren song. The most powerful of all magiks. The ability to control another._

 _She knew that their father taught Nyneve to be careful with her magik – that it needed to be used to watch over others, to help. But always at a price, for great magiks could not be undone._

 _But their mother used magik to get what she wanted. And Avarnaa wanted the world._

 _It was on their five-score birthday that she left with her sister to apprentice under a powerful wild Fae Queen, who lived in a castle of glittering ice, but had no true Court – her eyes like molten gold. She stayed there for a century, learning the most powerful rune-spells. Ones that no other myrmaid could perform._

 _She was there when the golden-eyed daughter of the Fae Queen fled in the middle of the night. A brilliant warrior with hair like chestnut. Nyneve had fled with her._

 _But Avarnaa stayed. She needed to learn._

 _It was another century before there was nothing left for her. And so she left, in the dead of the night much like her sister had done._

 _She returned to the sea, to find her mother gone. She had no family left. Her father, eaten by a dragon, and her sister somewhere in the Drylands with the Fae Queen's daughter. And so Avarnaa vowed that she would be better than them all – she would rule the Land and Sea as her mother had always told her she would._

 _The myrmaid prince of the North was marriageable age, she heard._

 _And so, a plan formed in her mind._

 _Her goal set, she made her way North._

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Mykaela could have laughed at her sister as she checked her reflection for the umpteenth time. But she didn't. Instead she helped Aelarra smooth out wrinkles in her sapphire dress that did not exist.

Aelarra looked stunning.

She would be the most beautiful at the ball – fae or otherwise.

"You will look beautiful for your prince, my sweet," Mykaela said softly, cupping her sister's cheek gently. "Any would be foolish not be looking at you tonight."

Mykaela laughed as Aelarra's cheeks flared light blue with embarrassment.

"I will tell him tonight," Aelarra said softly. Reassuring herself, as she checked her immaculate curls once more.

… **.**

Kairavi awoke slowly, her head fuzzy. Had she been magiked?

"How much longer now?" It was the Sea Witch's voice, for though she had not heard it truly in so long, Kairavi would not forget the voice that had haunted her dreams. And as her vision cleared, Kairavi saw them. The Sea Witch and the hooded figure.

"Everything is almost ready," the hooded figure said softly, a voice that Kairavi thought she recognised. "The Prince is to be wed to another, a human girl from the next kingdom. Aryan's kingdom will be crushed by the loss of Aelarra, there will be no need for much bloodshed."

"I will decide if there is to be bloodshed or not," Avarnaa twirled and moved closer to the light, the hooded figure following.

And Kairavi sucked in a startled breath, her gills fluttering.

Perhaps they'd not thought her awake; for they turned suddenly, showing the Southern Queen their profiles clearly. "Varenya?"

She stared at her sister's face, so like her own, with its ocean-blue eyes wide with shock.

"How could you?"

… **.**

Naemira could feel softness surrounding her, but her vision swum before her eyes. She thought she saw the flittering of sapphire wings.

"Will she be ok, Vasaanta?" the voice was pleasant, kind.

Naemira did not hear the response as she slipped from consciousness once more. But she felt the warm pressure on her hand. Reassuring.

… **.**

Indiira swirled the tankard, watching the ale move within. As a girl of only one-score and five, she should not have been sitting alone in the bar. But no one would look at the girl in the red cloack, with her tawny eyes.

The humans around her would not know a wolf sat in their midst, for they were too busy celebrating the news. That their beloved Prince Laric, the perfect prince, was to wed an exotic princess from across the mountains.

He would not wed one of the 'fae-cursed' myrmaids who had been living at the Palace.

"Are you ok, dear?"

Indiira looked up into the wide hazel eyes of the barmaid – a pretty woman, perhaps the same age as the Prince who was to be wedded. But she looked older than her years, tiredness framed those hazel eyes. Indiira observed her – how she had tried to tame her unruly golden-brown curls. But strands had begun to escape the tight braid.

Frazzled.

And yet she was concerned. For a stranger.

"Are you here alone?"

Indiira nodded, careful not to let the deep hood of her cloak fall back. The woman could not see her tawny eyes, or the untamed hair beneath. She could not see the wolf. And for as long as she could not see, she could not judge. "They did not need me at the Palace tonight."

Her job as a stable-hand was a good one, but she abhorred balls and the visitors they brought to the Palace. More people meant more chance of discovery. She wanted nothing more than to go back to her old life, with her family in their home in the forest. But that was gone. Her family was dead and buried.

"Ah yes, the Prince is to meet his bride," the barmaid smiled, wistful. "A bar is no place for a girl to be, not alone. And not on a rowdy night like this."

Indiira opened her mouth to protest. She had nowhere else to go. Perhaps the barmaid saw her hesitation, or perhaps she felt sorry for the young girl in the red rune-spelled cloak.

"If you go into the back room, I will be finished in the next hour or so," she said. "My daughter would love the company."

And before she knew it, Indiira was being led into the room. The child, perhaps eight or nine, looked up from her dolls with a smile. Sapphire eyes, which seemed somewhat familiar, lit up.

And Indiira could not help but smile back.

… **.**

The ballroom was every bit as beautiful as it had been when _they_ were introduced to the Human Court. Aelarra stood straighter when the silvery fanfare announced the princess's arrival. A pretty sound. A lovely tune.

But she felt her breath leave her when she looked upon the beauty who had entered in a gown of deep crimson satin. It was the perfect foil for her caramel skin and obsidian eyes.

Her familiar eyes.

Aelarra tried to school her face into a mask of indifference, just how Mykaela had taught her to. But it would not work, not when she looked at Laric's face.

It was as if her heart were breaking in two. A cavern had opened deep within her chest.

For upon his perfect face, recognition dawned.

She was the pretty temple girl from all those years ago.

The one who had pulled him from the water on the beach.

The one he thought had saved him.

The one he thought he _loved._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 _ **Year 1, 559 of the Human Era**_

 _ **8 years passed**_

 _Laric awoke to a splitting headache and a burning in his chest. His throat was on fire, his mouth dry. He tried to get up, his arms weak and trembling._

" _You shouldn't get up," a soft voice said. "You need rest."_

 _He turned to the speaker. She had perhaps seen ten or eleven years, a lovely innocence shone in her face. Her skin was the colour of soft caramel, the colour of the people to the East. "Where am I?"_

" _The Temple of Sanctuary," she said with a smile, wringing out a cloth and pressing it to his forehead. Her obsidian eyes were bright, lively. "You've been resting for the last week. You had so much water in your lungs. We didn't know if you would survive or not."_

 _He had fluttered in and out of consciousness for three weeks. The girl spoke to him of her homeland, of endless grassy plains and shimmering rivers. Of her dark-skinned people that crafted the most beautiful things of gold._

 _She was a charming little thing, keeping him entertained._

 _If only he had been a few years younger._

 _Or she older._

 _Perhaps he would visit again in a few years._

 _But when it was finally decided he could go back to the Palace, he was sad to bid farewell to the lovely temple acolyte with the obsidian eyes and charming smile._

 _He would see her again._

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Mykaela paced her chambers, uneasy. She had met with King Alexandyr once more after speaking with her father.

Things needed to move faster. The myrfolk needed protection. Her father had found more decapitated bodies. Decapitated and skinned by _human_ blades. With a snarl, Mykaela threw her knives in quick succession. One after another they embedded in the door, in a perfect line.

She and her father wanted laws that protected them – protected myrmaids from humans who sought to make jewellery from their scales.

Her father had not told her everything, Mykaela could see that in her father's face. But their time was short, for myrfolk could not dream-walk as the new Fae Queen could. In their brief exchange her father had told her what to ask the human king.

But Alexandyr could do nothing, for there was no proof that humans were behind the disappearances; her father would not give him the bodies. She remembered Gawayn's warning once more, from Queen Lavanya. Aelarra was in danger.

With a frustrated groan she punched the wall.

"You know, if you keep doing that, you'll break your pretty hands," Gawayn said softly. Mykaela jumped, startled, and turned to see him perched on her windowsill. The curtains drifting in the breeze around him.

How long had he been there? She normally noticed everything. The air that the land-dweller breathed, it must be addling her brain. She yearned for nothing more than to submerse herself in the water of the ocean. To feel the waves breaking overhead, to feel the currents pulling her.

She could see in his face that he was going to say more, but Gawayn's expression changed. Softened. "Are you okay, Mykaela?"

She opened her mouth to snap at him. But it was a small whimper that escaped instead. She looked at the knives she'd thrown at the door. She turned back towards him, her back pressed against the wall. And then she slid down, crumpling to the floor.

"I feel so useless," she said softly, looking up at him through her curtain of curls. He had entered her room. Filling up so much of the space, those silver wings glittering in the moonlight. "Why didn't you just come through the door?"

"Would you have let me in?" He laughed softly, crouching beside her. "And plus, we're all being watched."

Unease rippled through her body. She knew they had enemies in the Palace. But they concealed themselves well – powerful rune magik was at work. And she had no idea who it could be. And Aelarra had already been attacked once.

She would do anything to protect her.

"If anyone hurts her, I will kill them," the venom in her voice did not surprise her, by Gawayn's eyes widened a fraction. "I must find them."

"I came to ask you if you would journey to the Fae Court when your business here is done," he said softly. "My King and Queen would greatly wish to speak with you, on behalf of your father. The humans are not the only ones who want alliances."

Mykaela looked up at him. "You were watching us all. Not just negotiating with Alexandyr. Deciding if it were worth it." She paused a moment. "Once Aelarra is safe. Only then will I consider it."

"You are not what I thought you were," he said softly, his silver eyes unreadable. He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles and disappeared out the window once more.

But she did not miss the muffled footsteps that moved away from her door. Had she not been against the wall she would not have heard it.

She clenched her fist.

She would find them.

… **.**

The strange girl awoke sluggishly, and Anya did not question why – in her magik mirror she had seen the shield the scarred girl had created. She had cast the rune with nothing but her voice, like a myrmaid. But was not. For there was no full moon for her to walk under, she had legs as sure as Anya herself.

She had sent her knights to rescue the scarred fae-girl from the Cursed – a pack of werewolves who had been terrorising villages close to the forest, villages similar to her old home where they still had rune-spells protecting their houses from the wayward fae who preyed on the weak.

The girl blinked at her – no, not a girl, Anya thought. For there was an infinite sadness in those sea-blue eyes. "Who are you?" Anya kept her voice soft.

"My name is Naemira, Your Majesty," the fae replied, her strength returning as she sat up in the plush bed. The midday sun shone through the diaphanous curtains and Anya could see the slight blue tips of the fae's chestnut curls. "And I have a message from my King."

… **.**

The barmaid's name was Marian, and her daughter was Clarissa. Indiira had dreaded taking off her cloak, to reveal who she was beneath, but her fears had been for naught.

They fell into an easy routine, Indiira would go to their home in the City after she finished at the stables. Though tired and weary, she would always have time for the sapphire-eyed child with her unruly chocolate curls and bright smile.

Sitting around the small table, it was easy to feel as if she belonged there. Marian was kind and sweet, Clarissa's father had never been around so it had always been just the two of them. And they welcomed her into their home.

And yet, what she had seen that night plagued her. The fae-hunter and his lover. She had to tell someone, but who would believe her? A silly little werewolf pretending to be normal.

… **.**

Siri watched Aelarra and Dane as they lay on the grass in the courtyard, laughing and smiling. She decided that she liked the younger far less than the older.

And for far different reasons.

Mykaela was beautiful. Bold, like Anya. She was competition.

Aelarra was insufferable. She practically radiated purity; she won over any she spoke with.

For there was a tangible goodness about her.

She watched as they laughed as they sky opened, sending the prince and princess running beneath cover, their clothes sticking to them.

But Siri knew it to be simple naivety.

It made her an easy target.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 _ **Year 1, 561 of the Human Era**_

 _ **6 years passed**_

 _Aelarra swum in slow circles, watching with little interest as the fish danced, their bright colours flashing in the light that streamed from Above._

 _She turned her face upwards, to the Surface. Only two years had passed since the Great Storm, and she could do nothing to get the prince out of her mind. The myrmen who approached her could not compare to the man she had rescued – with his beautiful sapphire eyes, that were so much more fire than water._

 _With a sigh she sat on the coral bench._

 _It would be only another six years until she could walk on land, under the full moon as all her sisters already could. She wanted to explore the Drylands, she wanted to dance with her handsome prince until her feet ached, and then dance some more. Twirling and twirling beneath the light of the moon._

 _She wondered if her sister had already reached the Palace of the Fae King, where she would dance the night away. The Fae King had reopened his Court, and the ball, Aelarra knew, would be remembered for centuries._

 _But she could do nothing to make the time go faster, she would wait the long years until she saw her prince again. And until that time, she would look forward to seeing him in her dreams each night._

… **.**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Aelarra looked over the rolling hills as Bethalynn spoke, the exotic princess from across the mountains.

"Forgive me for being brash, my lady, but have we met before?" Laric's question was soft. Imploring.

Aelarra tilted her head, refusing to meet Mykaela's eyes, she looked at the woman who was betrothed to her love. Her skin was the loveliest caramel, unlike any Aelarra had ever seen – from the harsh sun of the Deserts, Bethalynn had said. All her people were dark skinned and dark haired, she had said. And in the moment, with the sun shining upon her young face, there was not a creature in the world more beautiful than the princess. For she smiled, unbridled joy lighting up her features at Laric's question. "I had thought you had forgotten, you were delirious for most the time."

"The two of you have met?" Dane titled his head to the side, but Aelarra knew he was watching her.

For her heart was in her throat.

"I worked in the temple by the shore," Bethalynn said, toying with a curl of her dark hair. "We are each sent to study in the temples, for my father believed it beneficial for us to expand our views beyond that of the Deserts. I was the one who cared for Laric, when he washed ashore after the Great Storm."

Aelarra met Mykaela's eyes then – two shades of ocean blue. One pained, one reaching realisation.

Then Bethalynn gasped. "Forgive me, for using your name, your Highness. I did not mean–"

Aelarra felt her heart crack a little more at Laric's smile. "Nonsense," he took his wife-to-be's hand. He pressed a soft kiss to the caramel skin. "We are to be wed, my lady, you may call me whatever you wish."

… **.**

Anya watched the man as he struggled against the fae knights. He stood no chance, he was not a fighter, and he had been poorly equipped for the task he had been trying to achieve.

They stopped before their queen, wings flittering.

"Who are you, sir?" She drew herself upright – she knew that she cut an imposing figure, though she was small. Dressed in plain leathers and cottons, it was her fiery wings that would draw the human's eye, purple and red and magnificent.

The man was trembling, no warrior was he. His clothes were threadbare, his beard untrimmed. Perhaps he was shocked to be inside the impenetrable fae castle – though he had been trying to do just that. But he had been caught by her knights outside, unable to overcome the protections runes that made up the very foundation of the castle.

His lips trembled, but he did not speak.

In his shaking hand he held a fistful of glittering myrmaid scales.

"My lady-" he shook her head at her knight.

The rune she cast was simple, drawing it with her blade before the man's face. A rune of honesty. Of _truth_. The power surged through her, taking hold of the man. The rune worked for her as no human runes ever would.

"Why did you come?" The question was as simple as the rune and she watched as sweat formed on his brow as he tried to resist.

"I was to kill the young fae princess."

A gasp from one of the normally stoic knights. A snarl from another.

But Anya let her rage burn within, not without. Her eyes narrowed. "Who paid you?"

"I do not know. I never saw the lady's face."

"Why do you have myrmaid scales? What do you gain by making us think it was the myrfolk?" No one would touch her child. _No one_.

The man's lip curled back and Anya could see why his benefactor had chosen him. He hated her, she could see it in his blazing eyes. He hated the fae.

They had wronged him, perhaps some time long ago. And he had never forgotten.

"What does anyone gain by us turning against the myrfolk?"

The man laugh. Cold and detached. It was as if he were another person entirely – similar to one she remembered well, though six years had passed since she had laid eyes upon him. Looking into the man's eyes it could have easily been Nuvian who looked back at her. "The fae will fall, you fae-cursed bitch. Even if we cannot get you to hate the myrfolk, we can get the myrfolk to hate everyone else. And their wrath would be unforgivable."

She thought to the scarred woman who was recovering in her castle, the woman who had born a message from the Myrfolk King. The woman who had once been a myrmaid, now one of the Cursed – banished from her Court.

Was she a mere ruse? Was the Myrking working against them all. No, Anya would not believe that. For Gawayn had reported an earnestness in the older myrmaid princess as she negotiable with the human king.

"Tell me, human," Anya said, acting the haughty Fae Queen, looking down upon the man. "How do you plan to achieve that?"

A laugh, a sick cackle and a snap. Anya stared at the red bubbled that came forth from the man's limp mouth. She started into his blank eyes.

Dead.

Dread stole through her slight frame.

He had snapped his own neck.

Or someone else had through a form of advanced rune-casting.

"Search him for runes!" Her voice was brisk and her hands did not shake as she helped her knights undress the man. Searching for the runes that bound him.

Bile rose in her throat when they found them. Etched into the base of his neck. A complex spell, runes upon runes, carved deeply into his skin.

Blood magik. The most powerful, and the most dangerous.

And though they were human runes she could understand them as easily as fae. Runes for control, runes for seeing, runes for feeling. The rune-caster had taken complete control of the dead man before her. And had forced him to break his own neck.

One by one, it started to click within her mind.

The myrfolk disappearances.

The strange magik the Myrking had felt, that he had bid the scarred woman to tell her and Adamyr of.

The dreams that Lina had – of blood and carnage.

There was someone who was playing them all against each other.

There was someone who wanted a true war between the fae and humans,

There was someone who would stop at nothing, not even killing children, to achieve their goals.

And the young myrmaid princess, curious little Aelarra, was unknowingly at the centre of it all.

"Your Majesty?"

She looked up at the knight who was looking at her beseechingly. Worried.

Her mouth tightened as she stood.

"Get my husband. We must gather the Court."

… **.**

Bethalynn did not like being coddled – it was against everything in her being. Her people valued females just as much as they valued males, they were not inferior. They could do any task.

And the way the King's Sword-master was looking at her, as if she were a mere babe, made her want to wretch. His stormy eyes looked as if they wanted nothing more than to swallow her whole.

He had found her moments after Aelarra had left her, sitting on the lip of the trickling marble fountain. His deep blue cloak fluttered in the refreshing breeze, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Nuvian, his name was. She knew only because her betrothed spoke so highly of his skill with a blade. "The myrmiad has her eyes on your prince, your Highness," he said softly, in his voice of liquid silk. She wondered idly if he knew how much he sounded like the fae he so adamantly hated. "She will lure him away from you with her sirens song."

Bethalynn tilted her head to the side – a picture of girlish innocence. But inside she reeled. She had trained at the temple for six years; she could tell when runes were being worked, even if she could not cast them herself. It was not because she had any fae blood stopping her, she could not cast fae runes either. But her father had always said she was more perceptive than most, and she could not see the Sword-master's hands. She could not see the patterns he traced with his nimble fingers, but she could feel the slight change in the air. He wanted to deceive her.

"You are incorrect, sir," she kept her voice light as she stood and moved away from him, her long skirts swirling about her ankles. "Aelarra has no siren's song, neither does her sister."

She felt him falter in his rune-casting – he was powerful, yes, but he did not know her strengths. Perhaps he had thought to find an ally in the exotic princess who did not know their ways or the troubles that plagued their lands. But she had been raised to see everyone as equals, fae and human alike. He did not know that beyond the mountains the djinn were treated with as much respect as humans, if not more.

And he did not know that she trusted Aelarra far more than she could ever trust him.


	15. Chapter 15

**sChapter 15**

 _ **Year 1, 567 of the Human Era**_

 _ **Present**_

Bethalynn laughed, a joyous, merry sound. She could not help it, for though she was as uncomfortable as Mykaela was upon the horse, she was having fun.

Aelarra was grinning, her face animated as she told them the tale of when she and Dane had gone exploring along the river. A small child had splashed water at her, hoping to turn her into a myrmaid. Just to see her beautiful tail. The innocence of children could save them all.

She did not know why the humans and fae were at odds, for they had always lived peacefully together in her father's lands. But it was different, she had to remind herself. For the djinn of the East were as elusive as the stars – glimpsed occasionally from afar.

"I wonder what Dane would have said had he saw your tail," Mykaela smirked. "He would be torn between helping you and turning away."

Aelarra guffawed. "Mykaela!"

Bethalynn looked between the two of them, confused.

Mykaela laughed once more. And though she had no siren's song, the sound was enchanting. "Our clothes do not stay with us when we shift form."

Bethalynn's eyes widened in shock, glancing towards the guards who looked away awkwardly. Blushes on their faces. For surely they, too, were thinking of the young myrmaid princess unclothed.

Had the prince, either of them, seen her unclothed?

Bethalynn's mouth was opened to speak the question when a whizzing sound fill the air. She watched as one of the guard's eyes widened and he slid from his horse, an arrow protruding from his chest.

And as panic filled the air, Aelarra reached across and gripped the reins of her horse before it began to rear.

Panic spiked through her as one after another, the protection fell.

… **.**

Nuvian watched through his spy-glass as the party was attacked – the three princesses were too far away for any guards positioned on the portcullis to see clearly. And even as he moved to ring to warning bell to help them, he knew it would be too late for the two myrmaids. The young foreign princess would be spared. Just.

He did not let his smile show as he joined the amassing knights. The outlaws who attacked the women wore no insignia; if any stragglers were to be caught there would no way to trace them back to him. For they all hated the fae as he did.

And they knew, as well as he did that If the daughters of the Myrfolk King were killed while under the protection of King Alexandyr there would be no alliance. He had seen the fury in the older princess's eyes when the younger had been harmed. Not even the great Fae King and Queen could stop the rage that the Myrking would direct at the Kingdom. No one would be spared his wrath.

He mounted his own horse as Prince Laric and Prince Dane entered the courtyard, both calm and collected. Though Nuvian could see the panic in their sapphire eyes.

He almost regretted having to kill them, for Laric had shown such promise. But the humans would have to fight back against the infuriated myrfolk – and they would have to wipe them out completely.

It was a shame that the princes would be lost in the war that loomed before them all. A war that none could see but the select few who had orchestrated it.

… **.**

She felt it the moment the air changed; it was like when the King's advisor's looked at her with hate in the negotiations.

It was but a moment later when the arrow whizzed through the air, burrowing deep into her horses flank. She slid from the horse, eyes wide. But she rolled at she hit, landing in a crouch, her daggers out as she snarled.

She glimpsed the arrow as her horse bolted, frantically trying to see Aelarra and Bethalynn as the attackers moved in on her.

Their formation was perfect.

Too planned.

Another image burned into her mind.

The human's had used the same formation when they had hunted and killed the last Fae King.

Mykaela snarled as she remembered Gawayn's words once more. To watch out for Aelarra.

To kill the princess would start a war.

The myrmaid's blood burned in her veins as they closed in on her. Hatred burned in the depths of their eyes. Human eyes. She flicked her wrist, her knife burying itself in the throat of a man who was nearing Aelarra's horse.

"Aelarra, run!" she screamed as she lunged at one of the humans. They would not touch her sister. They would not start a war. A silver-tipped dagger sliced across her back. Pain searched through her body.

It burned.

But she would take them all with her if she was going to fall.

Her rage made her blind.

Warm, red blood sprayed across the road.

… **.**

Lavanya walked with Gawayn in his dream. His silver wings carried him half a foot from the ground, though she walked, her foots lighter than any human. But heavier than any other true fae. He remembered clearly when she had been little more than a fiery human at his king's side, when he had still been nothing more than a Beast.

She had told him of the attack on the Court, of the man who was controlled by a human rune-caster.

Gawayn pursed his lips, thoughts swirling through his mind. He did not believe the myrfolk had any part in the attack – for the once-myrmaid, the scarred woman, as Anya had described her, had told the truth. Gawayn had been to the cove, he had felt the wrongness in the water. A magik that was not truly fae or human.

"Some people would see the world burn, if they can rule over the ashes."

He felt his queen's dark cocoa eyes rest upon him, but he looked around the garden that was his dream-scape. No one would have thought their new Fae Queen would be so powerful, for very few fae had the ability to dream-walk.

"But who?" Anya asked, though he had no doubt that she and Adamyr had questioned it back and forth between them. "Who would wish to harm Aaloka?"

Harm, Gawayn thought wryly. _She cannot bring herself to say kill._ And he did not blame her, for if h had a child, he would let no one touch them. "I think they more wish to harm you, your Majesty. To weaken you and Adamyr." For they were powerful together, anyone could see that. But Gawayn had known Adamyr before the curse, and he knew his childhood friend would never have been a true king without Anya. She was the spirit, the fire that drove the changes. "But any human could achieve a war without involving the myrfolk. Why involve them when it could make them a potential ally to us?"

Anya shrugged her lithe shoulders, a frown upon her small face. "What is that sound?" She tilted her head to the side, listening.

And slowly, Gawayn heard it too. The slow tolling of a bell.

And his eyes widened in shock when he recognised it – the alarm bell of the Palace.

Startled, Gawayn awoke in his bed to the sound of yelling in the hallway. Pausing only to pull on a cotton shirt, in the breeches he wore to bed he burst into the hallway. His wings took him faster than any human could run and it was mere moment before he cornered a page-boy dressed in clothing akin to those that Aelarra liked to traipse about in. "What is happening, boy?"

The boy was shaking, but Gawayn did not hesitate. "Tell me!"

"The princesses have been attacked, my-my lord."

The princesses.

Plural.

Aelarra.

 _Mykaela._

His heart dropped to his stomach and he hoped fervently that it was not Lady Nalina's true-dream come to fruition.

… **.**

Aelarra struggled, ocean-blue eyes wide as one by one Mykaela's blades were taken from her and the older myrmaid was forced to her knees. Their weapons were silver-tipped and she could feel the rune-spells in their clothes. Protection against siren-songs. They were no ordinary brigands.

They had purpose.

Malice shone in their eyes as they descended upon her, the silver of the blades glinting in the light of the moon. Bethalynn was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled. Her tunic was torn, her gold bracelets being torn roughly from her wrists.

Aelarra coughed as she was pushing forward, a hand grasping the back of her throat. Pushing her head. Forcing her to watch.

The silver-tipped blade was pressed to Mykaela's throat, a trickle of shimmering blood followed it, almost black in the moonlight. And she watched as her beautiful sister's eyes went round with true fear.

Ocean eyes met ocean eyes under the half-light of the moon and Aelarra wondered what her sister saw in her. For her mouth had parted slightly, an inaudible gasp.

Bethalynn cried out in pain and the sharp iron scent of human blood filled her senses. They had drawn Bethalynn's blood. They had hurt her.

Aelarra snarled.

They had been fools for thinking her no threat. For thinking Mykaela was the only one who posed any danger to them.

She was the daughter of the Myrking and his Master Rune-caster wife.

She needed to write no rune, or shape it with her hands as humans and fae of the land did; the image of it glowed in her mind's eye and she spoke the word. A single word that could perform all manner of deeds; but it was directed by her iron will. By the will of a myrmaid princess. A rune-caster.

A single breath passed.

Then the screaming began.

Crawling.

Biting.

Scratching.

Pain.

The screams filled the night sky.

… **.**

Dane urged his horse faster. It felt as if time had stopped, as if they were not moving at all. Dread rose within him. There were no more sounds. The screaming had stopped ahead of them, the dust had settled.

Had the attackers taken the princesses? Or left them for dead?

His heart was in his mouth as they thundered down the road, silver-clad knights behind them. Laric swore at his side.

They drew the horses up short when they reached the place of the attack. The attackers were on their knees, strung together by strips of their clothes, their skin rubbed raw and bleeding, soft moans and tortured whispers leaving cracked lips. Temples bled, small crescent-shaped cuts marred their skin.

Bethalynn was sobbing and trembling, her obsidian eyes wide with fright. Mykaela was snarling at the brigands, collecting their weapons. And Aelarra…his gaze raked over his friend. She looked to be in shock. Her sea-blue eyes were unfocused, looking at something that wasn't there. She had yet to look at them, to even register their presence.

"What happened?" Laric demanded, though of who, Dane wasn't sure. Perhaps Mykaela, for she looked the least traumatised. The most coherent.

Bethalynn fell into his brother's arms. A trembling mess. Her arm bleeding. Laric soothed her gently, his arms running over her frail form. "Aelarra saved us," Bethalynn whispered. "She saved us. She saved us."

… **.**

Aelarra heard Bethalynn's words, dimly, as if through a fog. Her vision cleared. They were safe. Bethalynn and Mykaela were safe.

They were alive.

Dane was looking at her worriedly. She had not notice them arrive. The knights behind him stared at her like she was an ethereal creature, not something to be feared as they had always been taught, something to be treasured. She looked up and her gaze locked with Laric's sapphire one.

For once it was he who looked away.

"Ara, are you alright?" Dane's voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a startled deer.

And then Mykaela's arms were around her, her musical laughter tinkling through the air. Hysterical. Aelarra knew she must have felt so helpless without her blades. "She was brilliant. Amazing. I've never seen anyone other than mother or Varenya do such a thing. I didn't know she could."

… **.**

Gawayn approached her slowly. She looked so small and helpless in the infirmary bed. But the annoyance was clear on her face, and if he were in her place he too would have been irked – forced to stay in bed. She wore nothing but a robe and Gawayn wondered at how extensive her injuries were. Her face was pale, and he could see a thin line of dried blue-green blood across her neck. He had learned nothing, only the whispers of those who worked at the Palace.

Her sea-blue eyes burned in her small face. "What are you doing here?" her tone was curt, snappish. Nothing like the saccharine voice she used in negotiations. It was the voice she used most frequently around him, nothing masked. But it was anger in her voice, directed at him.

He paused, a scant foot from her bed. He frowned. "I–"

"You have to leave," she frowned. But then she paused, looking up at him with such an open vulnerability he felt his heart stop. She was not angry, not at him at least. "You have to be there when they question the attackers. If the King–"

She left the words unspoken. But he heard what she was saying. If the King or one of his men had ordered the attack, they would never find out the truth. And she trusted him to find out that truth.

He took her small hands in his. Small, but not delicate. They bore the blue-green cuts of the injuries she had attained trying to defend her sister. "I will find who did this."

"Thank you, Gawayn."

It was the first time she had ever said his name, he realised dimly. And looking into her face he realised just how beautiful her eyes were. That mesmerising colour betwixt blue and green. Pleading with him to help her.

The proud myrmaid princess asking for his help.

"For you, Mykaela. I will."

And then he left her. The find where King Alexandyr was holding the attackers. He did not stay to see the surprise on her face.

For he knew if he had stayed a moment longer he would of taken her lips with his own. Consequences be damned.


End file.
